As Time Goes By
by Lilies in the pond of Doom
Summary: Harry and Hermione are missing, presumed dead. Ron is determined to find the truth, and not even a crazy shopkeeper or a sentient house will stop him! Complete, now slightly AU
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Well, this plotbunny just wouldn't go away. Please read, and give us feedback. We're always looking to improve!

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter characters and storyline are all the property of J. K. Rowling.

* * *

_**1. The Kitchen Conversation**_

_In which there is some angst, and the first, but not the last, kitchen conversation is held. _

Ron stared, unseeing, down at the waves which were lapping at the shore beneath the sheer cliffs, as the tide ebbed. The sky was pitch black, and the stars were incredibly bright out there where there were no streetlights to compete with them. The icy wind tugged at his hair and coat, but he was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice the cold.

_What possessed them to come out here?_ he thought, for the one hundred and twelfth time. After the initial shock had worn off and he had found himself able to think rationally again, he had become obsessed with finding out why. Why had they gone to Cornwall? Why had they been standing on this cliff, the night when the Death Eaters had found them? They should have known better. They _had_ known better, Ron was absolutely sure. Under normal circumstances they would never have gone off alone at night, not after everything that had happened to them in the last ten years. They had been perfectly capable of defending themselves, yes, but they should have been more careful. (Of course, _him _standing there alone at night was a different matter altogether).

Ron felt convinced that something must have happened during the time he and Ginny had spent in Romania, visiting Charlie. Something had forced them to…

_To what? Go stand on a cliff? _

But something must have happened to make them go to the place on such short notice. It must have been something important, something urgent, because otherwise, why hadn't they waited for him? _Why hadn't they sent him an owl? _

He had in fact received a letter from Hermione a day before it had happened, but it had made no sense to him whatsoever. He still carried it with him, and had read it so many times he had it memorized – but he couldn't decipher a meaning in its contents. He knew it must have some kind of hidden message, and if he could just figure it out, he might be able to fix things, to…

_Bring them back? You know you can't do that. They were stunned. They fell off the cliff. There is no way they could have survived, even if the bodies have never been found. Nothing you can do can change that. _

In the end he pulled out the letter and looked at it anyway, just to see her handwriting. He couldn't believe he was standing on the exact spot where they had been killed. It felt unreal. Part of him still refused to accept that it had happened. It was impossible to think that they were gone and that they had died on this very spot, and that there was nothing he could do about it.

_On this spot, around this time at night._

Ron frowned. Something wasn't right. It was niggling at the back of his mind; something about how they had died didn't fit. He just couldn't put his finger on what it was.

But he knew it was just wishful thinking, and that he had been thinking the same thing for over a week without reaching any conclusions. Yet now that he was there, at the scene of the crime, the feeling that something was wrong intensified instead of subsiding like he had thought it would do once he'd seen the place for himself. It was obvious that nobody could have survived the drop from that cliff, and since they had been stunned they wouldn't have been able to swim even if they had.

Ron didn't want to think about it any more, so he decided it was time to leave. He checked his watch. It was already way past one o'clock, and Ginny would be worried. Those days, neither of them went to sleep while the other was out.

With a last glance at the dark sea, he turned on the spot and disapparated.

* * *

The lights were shining in the windows at The Three Broomsticks where Ron appeared a few seconds later. He started walking to his and Ginny's cottage. 

The decision to live together had been quite natural. After Harry and Hermione had died, neither Ron nor Ginny had wanted to be alone. Besides, it was cheaper to share a place, since both of them were still in training – Ginny as an Auror, Ron as a Healer – and only had small incomes from their part-time jobs. The house had belonged to their aunt Muriel, and was riddled with protective spells and charms, seeing as they were both obvious targets for what remained of the Death Eaters. Recent events showed that they still had reason to be afraid.

When he reached the front door, he knocked. While he did have his own key, walking in without announcing his presence would certainly scare Ginny, and earn him a vicious Bat-Bogie hex.

"Ron?" said Ginny, from behind the door.

"Yeah, it's me. When was the last time you were car sick?"

"The last time we had a car," said Ginny. "During our trip to Norfolk when we fished for crabs. I was ten."

"Right," said Ron. "Ask my question quick, it's freezing out here!" He hadn't realized how cold he was until he had seen the bright, warm light spilling out from the kitchen window.

"Why did I push you off your broomstick when _you_ were ten?"

"Because I said you had the Quidditch technique of a drunken Augry that had been walloped over the head repeatedly by a beater's bat," said Ron.

"Proved you wrong, didn't I?" said Ginny, as she let him in. Ron shrugged.

She had made a pot of tea. An old used copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _lay open on the kitchen table. Ron glanced at it. She was reading the chapter about how the ministry had worked with classifying beings and beasts. Ron had never bothered to read that part. He had always thought the subject matter was excruciatingly boring, had always figured Hermione would tell him about it at some point, so that he wouldn't have to research it himself.

"I'm just freshening up my memory," said Ginny, seeing what he was looking at. "It's for my Auror training. I have a feeling I have to know these things. You know – why were vampires difficult to classify? Why do ghosts not want to be considered beings? Stuff like that."

"Yeah," said Ron absently, sitting down at the table, with his cup of Earl Grey. He wondered if the copy he had shared with Harry was anywhere in this house. He couldn't remember having thrown it out, but still, you never knew. He would have to search for it.

He yawned. He really ought to be in bed, but felt that he needed to talk to someone. Ginny didn't look like she was about to budge, so he said,

"So what's your plan for tomorrow then?"

"I promised I'd help Sarah Cottington clean up the attic. She doesn't want to go up there alone. She thinks it's infested with Ashwinders. I'll probably stay there for tea, her mum usually bakes lovely chocolate muffins. You?"

"Oh, I still have to deal with all the legal stuff you know. I can't put it off any longer, the wills, all the old papers…" he paused. Ginny twiddled with her teaspoon. When she noticed him looking at her, she hesitated before saying,

"Well, If you want help, I'll tell Sarah, it's no problem –"

"No," said Ron, "no, no, I'll take care of it."

There was a couple of minutes silence, during which Ron contemplated how stupid he actually was to keep bringing it up, when he knew it was just as painful for her as it was for himself, while Ginny determinedly kept playing with the teaspoon.

"Look, Ginny," he said at long last. "I know there's something wrong, alright?"

Ginny looked up at him. Her eyes were a bit shiny he noticed, but he continued anyway.

"Why would they go out there without telling anyone? It wasn't like them. I just know there was something wrong, but I can't say what…"

"Ron, when are you going to accept that they're gone?" said Ginny angrily.

"When I see the bodies!"

"They were washed out to sea, obviously! I wish you'd stop talking about it."

"I can't. Ginny," said Ron, as he got up and started to pace. "I _know_ there's something wrong about what happened. Something about it doesn't work. I just don't know what it is."

"Yes, you've said that," said Ginny. "I know how you feel. Don't you think I also wish they were still alive?"

"I'm not just saying this because I wish they were alive," said Ron, even though he himself had thought so before. Her refusal to believe in him made him want to defend his suspicions all of a sudden. But he really didn't feel like arguing with her right then, so he bit back the sharp retort that formed itself automatically in his mind.

"Okay. I can't stop thinking about it, but I'll try not to talk about it. I think I'll go to bed."

Ginny looked astonished and a little dismayed, when he got up, stretched and left the room. He hadn't been himself since it had happened. Of course, none of them had.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. **

**A/N: If you ever feel a really strange compulsion to review, of course we wouldn't mind!**

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**2. – _The Receipt_**

_In which Ron's niggling feeling grows stronger, as he discovers the dangers of shopping. _

Ron had been looking through the papers for fifteen minutes and already he had a fierce headache. He had put aside the wills for the time being, and was currently going over all the unpaid bills and various other official-looking documents which he really had no idea what to do with.

_Well, best to get the hardest part over with,_ he thought, picking up the wills. He wasn't sure which one would be the most difficult to take care of - his best friend's or his fiancée's.

Ron and Hermione had gotten engaged during the war for the same reasons as everybody else had. Those had been uncertain times, and nobody had known whether they would be alive from one day to the next. However, the war had ended shortly after their decision. As sure as they would ever be of their safety, they had agreed to take things slowly, and wait until they had found some sort of employment. Ron now wondered how things would have been if the war had lasted a little longer.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

When he stood up, intending to get himself a cup of coffee, he realized his shoelace was untied. Sighing, he sat down again and bent over to tie it. His eyes fell on a small, nondescript piece of paper which was lying under the table. He picked it up and looked at it. It was a handwritten receipt, which must have fallen from the stack of papers.

_October 6_

_King Charles gown, grey, 5 galleons, 2 knuts_

_King Charles jerkin, grey, 2 galleons, 2 sickles_

_King Charles shirt, white, 1 galleon, 2 sickles_

_King Charles trousers, grey, 2 galleons_

_King Charles boots, plain, 2 galleons, 9 sickles_

_King Charles slippers, black, 3 galleons, 9sickles_

_King Charles stockings, grey, 3 sickles_

_King Charles stockings, grey, 3 sickles_

_King Charles Cap, white, 5 sickles_

_Total: 16 galleons, 16 sickles, 2 knuts_

_To be returned October 7_

_Dawn's Period Clothing_

_3 Tensington street _

_Porthleven_

Ron stared at the piece of paper for a few moments. Then he put it on the table, struck by what he had read. He didn't know what to make of most of it, but two things stood out clearly: Porthleven and October 7. The place and the date of their disappearance.

Why had Harry and Hermione wanted a jerkin, a grey gown, and all the other stuff on that list? Who on earth was king Charles?

Now he had something else to investigate.

He sat back in his chair, frowning at the inoffensive pile of papers in front of him. Well, he was after all supposed to settle their debts and take care of any other unfinished business they might have. He might as well start with this.

His mind still buzzing with unanswered questions, Ron abandoned the wills, got up, pulled on a cloak, stepped outside and disapparated.

He appeared a split second later, at the cliff where he had stood brooding the night before. The wind was blowing violently, and the waves crashed against the face of the cliff far below him. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, and started walking towards the village at a brisk pace.

As he neared his destination, he could hear the church bell chiming. It was ten o'clock.

Tensington Street, then. Where was Tensington Street?

He unfolded his map of wizarding locations in Great Brittan. He hoped 3 Tensington Street would show up on it; a lot of places had been made unplottable during Voldemort's second attempt to take power, and many of them had still to reverse the charms.

"Number three, Tensington Street… aha!"

The scenic picture of London was swiftly replaced by a detailed map of the village, and there was a little red arrow pointing out the words: 3 Tensington Street. Ron squinted at the map. Apparently, all of Tensington Street was magical, as it seemed to have trouble fitting into the village. Indeed, some of the houses were overlapping the muggle ones.

He was relieved to find that the place didn't seem to be far away from where he stood. The trouble would be to find the gateway. It seemed to be right next to a furniture shop.

He needn't have worried. Finding the shop was relatively simple, and as for the gateway, Ron wondered how the muggles were able to miss it. One of the outside walls of the shop was covered in luxuriant ivy. The leaves clearly spelled out; _Here is the entrance to Tensington Street, wizarding shopping district of Porthleven. Pull this tendril and step right through. _When he looked closer, he could read in smaller letters; _Make sure to visit nr 10, birthplace and childhood home of Felix Summerby!_ And below that, in leafy italics: _To muggle residents of Porthleven: should any of you read this, please ignore it. You are suffering from sunstroke, or, if it is cloudy, overindulgence of some dangerous hallucinogen. Go home and have a cup of tea. It will all be alright in the morning. Cheers! _

Ron smiled as he pulled the tendril which formed the word _This! _He walked through the opening which suddenly appeared in the wall, and into Tensington Street.

It was a rather pleasant neighbourhood, actually. Although the shops were fewer, he liked how it was far less crowded than Diagon Alley. Perhaps he would do his shopping there in the future. The street was broad, and lined with neatly kept birches. Along one side of the road were the shops. They all seemed to be quite small, with brightly painted doors and shutters, and the doorsteps swept clean. On the other side lay the docks, where all manner of interesting ships were moored. However, aside from two wizened old wizards who were standing by one of said ships, there was not a person in sight.

Ron particularly liked the quietness. Not that it was really _quiet _of course, but the sound of the waves breaking and the wind through the trees was so unlike the din of Hogsmeade, the endless chattering of the other healer apprentices, and the depressing silence of his home, that it seemed to him to be the most soothing noise in the world.

Soon he reached number three. He was just about to knock on the green door, when it was thrown open, almost hitting him in the face, and something seized his arm and dragged him inside.

He found himself in a small room filled with racks upon racks of brightly coloured clothes. Several wooden mannequins bedecked with all kinds of robes and dresses smiled and winked at him. The woman who had dragged him inside was still holding his arm in a vicelike grip. She was more than a head shorter than him, and her face was mostly obscured by her bob of straw-coloured hair, but he could see her remarkably long nose. Her violet fingernails were very sharp, and her dress was such a bright shade of orange that it hurt his eyes, forcing him to look the other way.

The moment she'd managed to pull him over her threshold she started talking.

"Hello sir, what can I do for you, T-shirt perhaps? No, no, no, not a T-shirt, what am I thinking? But you're interested in something muggle, is that right? How about a doublet? We have a wonderful King James selection! Green silk, red velvet! No. Queen Anne cape, for the carnival next week, and a nice cap to go with it! Buckle shoes, here's your doublet, lace gloves, try them on now – no, too small, sorry, here! Lovely colour on you my dear, goes with your eyes! Something for your girlfriend? Shorter than you, yes? Very pretty, yes? Brown hair? We have some very nice –"

"No!" said Ron, a little louder than he had intended. "No, no thank you. I just want to ask you a couple of questions, alright?"

"We also have some very nice patterns, if you want to make your own," said the woman. "I'm Dawn, by the way, who are you? You're not from hereabouts, are you? Come here, have a look!"

"Maybe later," said Ron. "I want to talk to you about a receipt I have." He pulled the piece of paper out of one of his pockets and handed it to her. Dawn seemed to get a grip of herself. She read the receipt quickly, and gave it back to him, nodding vigorously.

"Oh, yes, I remember these. They should have been back two weeks ago! I'm afraid I'm going to have to charge you a bit more for the delay… But wait, it wasn't you who rented them, was it?"

"No, it was two friends of mine…"

"Oh, yes, of course, black-haired man, brown-haired woman. Harry Potter, wasn't it? Keeps odd hours, doesn't he? Going to a masquerade, weren't they? Personally, I thought they should have rented something brighter. I mean, I had some lovely creations that would have fit them just perfect, like this red one, don't you think? And velvet too! It would've looked lovely on her, don't you think?"

A mannequin wearing an incredibly gaudy gown of red, purple and pink velvet, with copious amounts of gold coloured lace and a neckline which was trimmed with gigantic yellow silk roses, struck a dramatic pose and winked roguishly at Ron. He involuntarily took a step back, as the image of Hermione wearing _that _cropped up in his mind.

"Or how about this ochre –"

"No. No, I mean, yeah, it's… eh… look," said Ron. "They're dead, okay?"

"Yes, I know," said Dawn. "I read about it in the paper. Terribly sorry."

"Well, what I mean is, I might not be able to find them. The clothes, I mean."

"Well, you'll have to pay me the full price for them then. I both rent and sell, you know. Anyhow, I told them, if they were going to a masquerade, why would they want to dress like _peasants?_ It's almost like they wanted to be part of the background, imagine! Masquerades are always such colourful affairs, you know, and we do have a few of them hereabouts, so I would know. You're supposed to dress with flair! Feathers! Bangles! Glitter! Lace! Pink! Yellow! Green!"

"Alright! I get it!" cried Ron.

Dawn took a deep breath.

"Um. Well. Yes. What I mean is, if what they'd wanted was anonymity, like they implied, they would have done better to go with something like _that_," and she nodded towards the horrendous reddish dress. "It's what everyone else would be wearing. In the outfits they wanted, they would have stuck out like sore thumbs! But they just said, "this'll be fine where we're going", and nothing I said could sway them! Well, that party must have been in some other town, because no-one _I_ know would ever throw one with a _peasant_ theme…"

She just wouldn't stop talking. While she was ranting, she would also throw in a "Well, this would look nice with your hair, wouldn't it?" "You have a sister, yes?" "Likes Quidditch, Yes?" "See, it's a corset, but it's comfortable! Wonderful when you're wearing the Queen Anne selection!"

Ron, distracted by what she had said about Harry and Hermione, hardly noticed how many articles of clothing she was piling into his arms, until finally she smiled at him brightly and said,

"Well, now I'll give you a discount, because you're my first customer today! Now, for everyone else, this lot would cost forty galleons, but for you, I'll make it thirty five!"

* * *

"Where have you been?" said Ginny, when he got home. Ron grunted. As he passed her, he deposited the pile of colourful scarves, hats and gloves on the kitchen table. 

"For you," he said.

Ginny stared.

Ron had managed to get out of buying most of the expensive clothes, simply by tossing them in a corner and refusing point blank to touch them. He had changed his mind. He was not doing any more shopping in Tensington Street.

"What? Why?" said Ginny.

"Long story short: Rabid shop keeper wouldn't let me go until I'd bought something. I thought you'd like these."

"Well, they're very nice, but that must have been expensive! What on earth were you doing in a shop like that anyway?" she asked, inspecting a silken glove, as if searching for the price tag.

"Well, I said I wouldn't buy them, and then she started haggling… anyway," said Ron, "they didn't cost all that much. But, the point is, I found out something. It turns out Harry and Hermione were renting costumes there the night they died. Something strange is definitely going on."

"You're not going to let it rest, are you?" Ginny said, sighing. "Well, okay. Tell me what's strange about it." She sounded unenthusiastic, but couldn't mask her hopeful expression quickly enough. Ron knew she wanted to hear what he had to say.

"They told Dawn - the shopkeeper – that they were going to a masquerade, but they didn't exactly want festive clothes. Look," he said, handing her the receipt.

Ginny scanned it. "Who is King Charles, by the way?"

"Some old muggle I suppose. Anyway, they told Dawn '_these will be fine where we're going!'_"

"So what do you think that means?" she said, handing him back the receipt.

"I don't know. It's just a hunch, but I don't think it's right. I know it isn't. I mean, where were they going? Why did they want muggle clothes?"

"Perhaps they were really going to a masquerade, Ron," said Ginny. "It's not unheard of, you know."

"I said I know there's something wrong!" said Ron, feeling angry all of a sudden. "Didn't you hear me?"

"Yes, I heard you. I know, but-"

"Then how about taking me seriously for a change? You think I'm just saying all this because I'm in denial, don't you? But I'm not. I'm not saying they're alive, alright? But I need to know what happened!"

"Why does it matter what happened," said Ginny, close to tears. "It won't bring them back, will it?"

"It matters to me. Okay?" said Ron, furiously. "And it should matter to you too. Didn't you care about them as much as I did? Do you really want to keep wondering what happened?"

"No, but-"

"You know as well as I do that there's more to it than we know, so why don't you help me out instead?"

Ginny hid her face in her hands. Ron immediately felt ashamed.

"Er…don't cry. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," sniffed Ginny.

"I… okay… I'll make a pot of tea if you like."

"You are an idiot," said Ginny, wiping her eyes with a napkin.

When she had a cup of tea in front of her, and he was sitting opposite of her again, she looked him in the eyes.

"So you think the costumes have something to do with why they died?"

"Well," said Ron, "I don't know, but…"

Ginny sniffed again and took a sip of tea.

"They recorded the testimony of a muggle witness, you know," she said.

Ron sat up straight.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Maybe you should go and listen to it. But," she said, when he was about to interrupt. "If there isn't anything wrong with the story, will you promise me you'll let it rest?"

Ron hesitated for a moment before he said,

"Alright. But if I do come up with something..."

"You can go on about it as much as you like," Ginny finished. "But until then, drop it."

"Where can I find the testimony?" Ron immediately asked.

"Tomorrow! I'm sick of this business. Let's just talk about something else for a while," she said, forcing a smile. "When are you telling mother that you're not getting into politics by the way? She's counting on you to change the system, you know."

"There's nothing wrong with being a healer either," said Ron, irritably. "I can't see what the problem is."

"You're the one who hasn't told her, though how you've kept it from her I'll never know. What are you afraid of? There are worse things you could be than a healer after all – even if that wasn't what most people expected you would choose to study."

"Well, what was I supposed to do? I don't want to work at the ministry. They're so corrupt, and besides, Percy went there didn't he, and look what happened to him! If I started working there they'd expect me to start behaving like that! And then I considered Gringotts, but you know how that would go. Every time I set foot in the place someone from the human staff comes up to me and asks me if I'm Bill's little brother. And then I thought dragon keeping would be kind of cool, but you know, Charlie…"

"Yes, I understand, you don't want to follow in your brothers' footsteps," said Ginny, sounding slightly amused at this idiosyncrasy of his. "But still, healing? I thought you wanted to be an auror, like Harry and me."

"There it is again. Harry and you! I want to do something on my own. So, it was either healing, or working on the Knight Buss for the rest of my life."

"Or maybe, if you work really hard, you could become a teacher at Hogwarts someday," said Ginny flippantly.

"Oh, yeah, that would be fun. Having to deal with students every day. Remember what we used to be like?"

"Used to be like? I don't think you've changed all that much. You know," she said, musingly, "I always thought Harry ought to have taught Defence Against the Dark Arts. Remember the DA?"

For a moment they sat still, thinking. Then Ginny seemed to shake herself out of her reverie, remembering her friend in need.

"Oh, look at the time, I have to go, I should have been at Sarah's ages ago. Thanks for the accessories," she said, wrapping a brand new bright blue scarf around her neck and donning the matching hat. "Bye!"

And she ran out of the house and disapparated.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here's the third chapter! Now look here, anyone who has gotten this far, please review. Because it feels slightly pointless to put this up if we can't get any response at all. Constructive criticism would be great – or just one sentence telling us you've read this! If you think it's just average then say so! Please? **

* * *

**3. – The Testimony**

_In which Ron goes to a place he doesn't want to go to, meets someone he doesn't want to meet and hears something he doesn't want to hear._

"What do you mean, you lent it to _her?" _Ron yelled.

The wizard behind the desk mumbled something, and ran a hand through his hair.

"How could you? How? Honestly, you people are so…" he trailed off, not being able to come up with something vile enough. He felt so angry, he almost choked. After taking a few deep breaths, he resumed his yelling.

"No wonder people still haven't come out of hiding! No wonder people are still getting murdered right under your noses!"

"Well –well, I-I didn't give it to her," the poor man stuttered. Ron ignored him.

"It's people like you who make sure people like him and his friends can still go around killing people in broad daylight –"

"I thought that happened at night-"

"SHUT UP! You're insane! You're all insane! Why didn't you lock him up properly? You let him walk out of there! You're the reason it happened! You're the reason they were killed!"

The Ministry employee, who had been about to summon security, now sat paralyzed in fear. He managed to squeak,

"Do you want to talk to the head of my department?"

"No! I've heard enough!" said Ron. He stormed out. The ministry employee sagged in his chair, withdrawing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his forehead with it. It hadn't been one of his better days.

Ron made sure to slam as many doors as possible, on his way out of the ministry.

* * *

Of all the people who could have borrowed it, it had to be them, he thought, as he stared up at the manor. Of the seven Death Eaters arrested for the murder, only _he_ had relatives alive and willing to help him, at least one of which was still a reasonably respected citizen. There seemed like there was nothing money couldn't buy for that family. 

Of course, it had to be the Malfoys.

Convincing Narcissa to let him hear the testimony would probably not be very easy, but he had to give it a try. He had only one thing to say which might make her help him, but there was no way he could get her to trust him, was there?

He hesitated, staring up at her Cornwall residence. There was nothing for it.

Resigned, he shrugged his shoulders and grabbed the doorknocker. It immediately tried to bite him.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. When he let go of it, it started yowling in a most bloodcurdling manner. There was a sound of rushing footsteps, and the door was flung open by a small, frightened house elf. Shaking all over, she bowed, and indicated for him to come in.

The minute he stepped inside however, all of the portraits, and there were quite a few, screeched,

"BLOOD TRAITOR! DON'T YOU DARE CONTAMINATE THIS HOUSE! BE GONE, FILTH!"

The carpet started knotting itself around his legs. A heavy anvil fell from the roof, and would have hit him squarely on the head if he hadn't lost his balance and toppled over.

The house elf shrieked and ran for it. Ron tried to get up, but dropped to the floor again when several rusty knives detached themselves from the wall and sped towards him, embedding themselves in the wood of the door behind him.

He had just noted that the big cactus in the corner was starting to look menacing, when he heard a slow, deliberate tread of feet, and a woman's voice, saying,

"Leave it alone, please."

Ron looked up at Narcissa Malfoy. She seemed rather amused at his predicament. Finally, when the carpet had ceased trying to strangle him, he got to his feet and dusted himself off.

"Well?" said Narcissa. "What do you want?"

"I'm here about the testimony," he said, having beforehand decided that it would be best to be as blunt as possible.

"What about it?"

"I need to hear it."

"Really."

"Yes – please, could I just-"

"Get out."

"If you would-"

"Now."

Ron bit his tongue. If he was going to get any results, he would have to keep his temper in check, but he could feel his control slipping inch by inch.

"Look," he said finally. "If I could listen to it, I might be able to help you."

"Don't make me laugh," said Narcissa coldly. "What could possibly cause you to think I would want help from a blood traitor?"

"There is something wrong with the story," said Ron patiently. "It didn't happen the way people think."

"And how do you know that?"

"It's just a hunch, but-"

"Get. Out. Of. My. House."

"If-I'm-right-your-husband-could-get-off," he said very quickly, while dodging an unpleasant-looking hex.

Narcissa paused.

"What do you mean?"

"Just that maybe he didn't really kill them. Let me listen to it, okay? What harm could it do?"

"Quite true," said an unpleasantly silky voice. From a room to the right of Ron emerged a tall, thin, long-nosed slack-mouthed man with dull, droopy eyes. With his neat clothes and carefully trimmed mousy hair, he had the unmistakable air of a lawyer about him.

He turned to Narcissa and spoke so low that Ron could barely hear him.

"Mrs Malfoy," he said, "I would advise you to let this rude young man listen to the recording. There is nothing in it that isn't already being used against your husband in the prosecution. And remember, you are only given the testimony conditionally and…" The rest of it, Ron was unable to hear.

What the man told her did not seem to make Narcissa any happier, but she said, curtly,

"I will fetch it. Sooty here will show you the portrait gallery while you wait."

The house elf who had opened the door for him came creeping out from behind a statue of an ancestor.

Ron followed her into a narrow corridor. In spite of what had happened to him in the hallway, he would have much preferred to stay where he was, if it hadn't been for the rather creepy lawyer who had remained there.

The walls were hung with rows upon rows of portraits, all featuring members of the Malfoy family. The further down the corridor they went, the older the paintings became. Sooty didn't say anything, and seemed to be studiously ignoring him. After a while, Ron broke the silence.

"This place doesn't look very lived in," he remarked, having noticed the layer of dust that covered everything, and in particular,the big cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

Sooty sniffed.

"Mistress only just moved in two weeks ago, sir," she said indignantly. "No family is living here for hundreds of years. What does he expect?"

"Sorry," Ron muttered, and went back to examining the portraits. He was fascinated to discover that the Malfoys had been blond for merely a hundred years. Portraits dated older than the 1870s showed men and women whose hair was brown with a reddish tinge. They all wore the same expression of angry disgust as they gazed at him however; the same look he had grown used to getting from living members of the family. Some portraits hissed as he passed them. One of them raised an eyebrow at him and said, "tsk!". Ron stopped and stared up at it. It grinned at him, baring its teeth.

Ron only had a second to wonder about the sharpness of said teeth, before something small barrelled into him, knocking him into the wall. The portrait, shaken loose, came crashing down upon his head, which as a result felt almost as if it had been cracked open. Seeing only stars, hearing only the house elf screaming apologies, Ron got to his feet and picked up the rather heavy painting. The house elf started banging his head against the wall. Sooty added to the racket by yelling at the elf,

"Stop it Tatty, you shall not punish yourself! He is not a proper wizard! Stop it! Stop!"

Ron, in the mean time, had just noticed something slightly odd about the portrait. On the back of it was written the word,

"Puniceus?" He whispered it under his breath.

As he did, he heard a grating noise behind him. He turned around, to see the wall where the painting had hung disappear, revealing a small niche. There were a number of odd objects lying in there. He had time to register a large iron claw, an oddly shaped rock, a very dusty golden goblet, the hilt of an ancient sword, a time-turner, an empty potions bottle and a _wristwatch… _And then the wall closed itself.

Tatty collapsed against it, exhausted. Sooty helped him to his feet, glaring at Ron as if it was he who had been smashing the elf's head. Ron hung up the portrait, which had been humming Christmas carols all the while.

"Mistress says," Tatty gasped, "that you is to come to her now!"

Ron nodded. Sooty led Tatty away, and Ron walked quickly back the way he had come, afraid of what the corridor might do to him if he was left alone in it.

Narcissa stood rigidly in the hallway, clutching what looked like a small glass ball, similar to those he had seen in the hall of prophecy a few years before.

"Come," she said, and she turned around and walked off. Not really believing his luck, Ron followed her into a sitting room. It did not seem to be designed for more welcome guests, as it was furnished only with a few hard chairs and a tiny table. More of the ugly paintings adorned the walls, and the people they depicted glared as he sat down. Without looking at him, Narcissa set the crystal ball on the table, and tapped it with her wand, muttering, _"Narrio!"_ The ball began to glow bright blue.

Then she too sat down, her eyes firmly fixed on the ball. Ron peered at it as well. After a moment, it started speaking.

"State your name and occupation, please?" said a female voice.

"James Jones, Fisherman, ma'am," said a man's voice.

"Mr Jones, could you please tell us what exactly you saw on the night of the 6th of October?"

Ron held his breath, as Mr Jones began to talk.

"I was walking home from Hilda's pub a good way outside of town, 'round one o'clock in the morning, and thought I'd take a stroll along the cliffs. I know it might not have been the brightest idea, but I wasn't really thinking straight at the time. Anyway, it was a beautiful night. The moon was shining real bright, so I could see pretty well where I was going. Well, it wasn't long before I started hearing raised voices. I thought at first it was just a group of kids out having a good time, but as I started getting closer to where they were, I realized the voices were really angry – though angry doesn't quite describe it, if you know what I mean. I thought something bad was about to happen, and considered turning back, but then there were these lights, and I noticed the large shrub. It's the only shrub you'll see on that cliff, mind, and I thought it was the perfect place to hide and get a good look at what was going on.

"I crept up behind it as quietly as I could, and the people didn't notice me at all. I could hear every word they were saying, and it just got stranger and stranger. They were screaming all sorts of things about some 'dark lord'. I thought they must be crazy or drunk or both. And there were these two people standing right close to the cliff's edge. One of them was saying stuff about 'it being over' and that there was no point. I didn't quite understand it – still don't. They were wearing real funny clothes, the two of them were, almost medieval-looking."

"And what were these two doing?" said the woman.

"Well, the girl was standing right up close to the young man, fiddling with something, and didn't seem to be paying too much attention to what was happening around her. The young man, he was holding this stick, and brandishing it while yelling all sorts of odd things at the others. I swear there was light coming out of the stick. I don't know what it was - couldn't see it properly – might have been a ray gun, I don't know. Have they invented them yet?"

"Stay on the subject, please," said the witch crisply. "Tell me about the other people."

"Right. Well, there were seven of them, all men by the looks of it, and all wearing these dark cloaks. There was one standing in front of the others, like a leader of sorts I suppose. He had whitish hair, long, too, and he was doing most of the yelling. Finally, he said something about there being no escape this time, and he sort of stepped back. The others spread out in a half circle around the other two, and I could tell it was about to get right ugly. There was nothing I could have done, and I would have rather left, but I just couldn't look away, you know? Well, they were all holding out their sticks and yelling the oddest things, shooting these bright lights, but the young man seemed be deflecting them somehow. Then the young woman sort of doubled up, and he turned around to look at her. He said something, she said something and then at least four of the men shot those weird lights at them. Took them right by surprise they did. Now, I know you won't believe me when I say this-"

There was a gulping sound, as if the man had taken a swig of some drink.

"- but they rose into the air. It all happened real quick. They flew into the air, and it was as if something had slung them backwards. They made a sort of arc, and then fell. Right over the edge. Never even screamed. And that is when I knew I was hallucinating. I'm telling you ma'am, I ain't never going back to that pub again. There must have been some funny stuff in my drink."

"Indeed," said the witch. "Can you tell me if any of those lights were green, and if so, whose light it was?"

There was silence for a moment, as Mr Jones was thinking. Ron clenched his fists nervously.

"Nah, I can't remember that," said Mr Jones finally. "Why?"

"No reason. But please, Mr Jones, can you tell me if you saw any of the men's faces clearly?"

"I certainly did, ma'am. After the two had dropped off the cliff, the others just turned around and walked back down, as cool as anything, without even looking over the edge to see what happened to the poor kids. As it was, they walked right by the shrub where I was sitting, and I was afraid they'd find me, but they were too preoccupied I suppose."

"Very well then. If you would look at these pictures, please, and tell me if you recognise…"

"Yes, that's them alright," said the man quickly. "And him… what's his name…"

"Lucius Malfoy," supplied the witch.

"He was the leader."

Narcissa hissed.

"Yes, he was one of those that did fling the kids off the cliff."

"I see. Well, thank you Mr Jones. If you would just wait one minute-"

"Hang on. You've got one of them sticks as well! Are you a hallucination? What are you doing? Don't wave that thing at me!"

There was a faint popping noise as the ball stopped glowing.

Ron sat still for a moment, unsure of what to think. Several emotions were writhing around inside him, battling for control. Anger towards Lucius Malfoy and the other Death Eaters, horror at hearing the details of the murder, grief as the barely healed wound reopened once again… disappointment, because it seemed to him that there was nothing at all amiss in the story. It had happened exactly as it had been described in the _Prophet._

"Well?" said Narcissa. "Did you find anything out?"

Ron looked up.

"I'll let you know," he said, the chill in his voice matching hers.

"Don't bother. The front door is that way."

Just as he was leaving the room, he heard one of the portraits saying,

"Narcissa, I can not for the life of me understand why you keep letting them into the house."

"What do you mean?" said Narcissa.

"A Weasley in Malfoy manor. As if it wasn't enough with that good-for-nothing traitor son of yours, who you keep sending letters to, who you refuse to remove from the family tree!"

"My son is not a traitor!"

"He betrayed the Dark Lord!" the portrait yelled. "He ran instead of giving his life for the cause! If I had been alive today, if it were up to me, I would have disowned you both!"

"How dare you!" Narcissa screamed. "_Incendio!" _

Ron could hear the merry crackle of burning canvas, and the shrieks of the unfortunate portrait. He quickly made his way out of the house, dodging another ill-aimed hex from its infuriated mistress.

He walked back towards the cliff, wanting to take one last look at it before he gave up on the issue forever.

Besides, he couldn't just apparate back home. He had too much on his mind.

Walking along the edge, looking down at the waves lapping serenely at the shore, he mentally replayed the recording of the testimony.

The pieces were there, and though he didn't know what they meant, he couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was missing, despite all the evidence to the contrary. He stopped, staring out at the waves, bits and pieces of what the man had said chasing each other round and round inside his head.

'_Round one o'clock in the morning…_

_I thought at first it was just a group of kids…_

_Something bad was about to happen…_

_There were these lights…_

_Two people standing right close to the cliff's edge…_

_The girl was standing right up close to the young man… _(Just_ how_ close? he wondered).

_Fiddling with something…_ (Fiddling with what? Why hadn't Hermione also drawn her wand?)

_They were wearing real funny clothes…_ (Just their robes, or had they been wearing their costumes?)

_They flew into the air… made a sort of arc… Never even screamed…_ Ron supposed they might have been stunned, or dead, even. Had any of those four spells been the Avada Kedavra? He wished, futilely, that Mr Jones' memory had been more exact.

The bits of the puzzle circled, teasing, staying just out of reach while letting him know that they were there.

If Harry and Hermione had been here, they would have figured it out, he thought. Harry would have noticed immediately which tiny details were the most important. Hermione would have been able to piece them together, and come up with a logical conclusion. Why couldn't one of them have survived instead?

Frowning, he kept on staring at the calm sea for a while longer, but nothing happened. Could they have been wearing their costumes? They wouldn't have been wearing robes so near to the muggle village, would they? And in the middle of the night? Round one o'clock was it the man had said?

Well, there was no use standing there getting cold. He'd apparate back home and cook up something edible. Feeling very depressed, Ron turned on the spot, and with a pop! he was gone.

However, a few minutes later he reappeared. He gazed at the shrub Mr Jones had been hiding behind, but couldn't really see it. All he could see were the pieces that were finally falling into place. Of course. Why hadn't he realized it before?

Perhaps he wouldn't go home just yet. He wanted to make sure he was right before he told Ginny about it. He would have lunch in the village that day.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews everyone!**

**Disclaimer: The Harry Potter characters and storyline all belong to J. K. Rowling**

* * *

**4. – The Ring and the Broken Chain.**

_In which Ron makes an unexpected discovery and argues with Ginny._

The meal had been very pleasant, only made better by his recent realizations. Having finished his codfish soup, Ron decided to take a stroll through the suddenly charming village of Porthleven. Maybe he could even look in on Dawn. He felt as if he was able to handle anything. He'd handled Narcissa Malfoy and her house elves splendidly, had he not?

As he came up to the portal of Tensington Street, he couldn't help glancing into the window of the furniture shop. It seemed that they did not just sell furniture, but antiques and other interesting items. He stood there admiring the bric-a-brac for a while, until his eyes fell upon something which made his heart stop.

Fortunately, it soon started beating again, almost twice as fast as it usually did, as he hurried into the shop to take a closer look. When he had been staring at the items for a while, a small man who was probably the shopkeeper came up to him and said,

"Hello sir, may I help you? Um, are you interested in these? There's quite a history behind them, you know."

"Where did you get them?" said Ron, still staring at the things.

"These are a part of the Ormanda Dylan set. She died 50 years ago, but we still haven't managed to sell all of her stuff. She used to collect interesting things she found at the shore. These things… don't recall how old they're supposed to be, but a few hundred years at least, I heard. Quite valuable they are. And see this ring? You can still read the engraving. A bit of an odd thing for someone to have written on a ring several hundred years ago, but there you are – people are strange. _If Death doesn't do us part soon. – Ron. _Heh. Not quite romantic but, well."

Ron was in a state of shock, and didn't hear that the old man was speaking until he said,

"Sometimes I wonder what became of the lass who wore it. If death did part them, or if they lived happily ever after. I think they did, don't you?"

"No," said Ron.

"Well, I suppose I'm a hopeless romantic, aren't I," said the man, shrugging.

"Yeah… how much do these cost, by the way?"

"£250," said the man. When Ron didn't speak, he said, "Well, I know it's a bit, but they're worth every penny, aren't they?"

"No," said Ron, laying them back in their case on the windowsill. "They're worth a lot more."

"Now who's the romantic, eh?" said the man, chuckling.

"Well, I'll think about it," said Ron. "I don't have any money with me right now. Bye."

"See you then," said the man, and he went back to the counter.

Ron walked out of the shop, but he left the door slightly ajar. When the shopkeeper wasn't looking, the two items, a ring and a strange-looking necklace, rose up from their case, almost as if of their own accord, and zoomed out door into Ron's waiting hands.

* * *

Pop! 

Ron appeared outside of his and Ginny's house. He really hoped she was home, because this cemented his case, as well as raising more questions which he wasn't sure he could answer by himself. Thankfully, he immediately spotted her mane of red hair through the window. He ran up the garden path, barged inside without bothering to ask her the question, and got stunned for his trouble.

"_Enervate!" _

When he came to he was tied up head to foot, and his head pounded. He must have hit the floor very hard.

"Ginny!" he said, indignantly. "It's me!"

"Oh yeah?" said Ginny, who was standing over him, twirling her wand. "Then answer me this: Whose idiot brother managed to knock down an entire wall of his house, scaring his poor mother half to death, when playing with his uncle's battering ram?"

"What are you talking about? You know that was granddad!"

Ginny smiled.

"That's right!" she said, and released him with a wave of her wand. "But you shouldn't just come running into my house like that."

"_Your _house? I pay half of the bills, it's half mine," said Ron.

"I'll call it yours when you do your share of housework," Ginny snapped.

"I do my share! I mow the lawn, don't I?"

"What lawn? You mean that little spot of grass outside the door? We're talking about three square metres! When I do all the cooking-"

"You keep saying you can't eat my food! What do you want me to do about it?"

Her eyes filled up with tears and for a moment he thought he had managed to somehow hurt her feelings again, when without warning she flung her arms around him.

"Ron! You're back!" she choked out. "You're acting normal again! What happened? Did you find anything out?"

"Brace yourself," said Ron, grinning once he'd recovered from her dramatic change of mood. "They're not dead."

Ginny's eyes became as round as dinner plates. She sank into a chair at the table, breathing heavily.

"What… how… are you sure?" she whispered.

"Almost positive, although I don't know how exactly. Look at these things I found in a muggle shop." He held out the ring first.

Having read the inscription, Ginny opened and closed her mouth several times before she said,

"That's your engagement ring! The one you gave to Hermione!" then she frowned. "Is that what you wrote on it? No wonder she wouldn't show it to me. She was furious with you for days, wasn't she?"

"It seemed appropriate at the time. How was I supposed to know?" said Ron, dismissively.

"Yeah, well," said Ginny. Then she looked worried, as a thought seemed to strike her. "But Ron, someone must have just fished it out of the water just after they died."

"No, don't you see? It was an antiquity," said Ron excitedly. "They'd had it in the shop for over fifty years, and the shopkeeper told me it was several hundred years old!"

"But Ron… what does this mean? They can't have… unless…"

"Look at this," said Ron, taking out the other item from his pocket and laying it on the table.

Ginny stared at it for a full minute. Then she slowly lifted her gaze, and looked at Ron.

"It's…"

"A broken time turner, yeah."

"But… how?"

"You see, I got the idea when I was looking at the sea. They were attacked at about one o'clock in the morning, right? But the tide is so far out by then, that they couldn't have landed in the water. So why weren't there any bodies? And you know, according to the witness, Hermione was fiddling with something all the while they were being attacked. It must have been the time-turner. And – well, this is just a guess, but I think they were wearing their costumes."

"If we could find outwhen the costumes are from,"said Ginny, her eyes almost glowing. "We might get an idea of how far back they went!"

"Exactly!" said Ron.

Then all of a sudden Ginny's face fell.

"But Ron, even if they did go back in time, they couldn't possibly have survived that fall, could they?"

They were silent for a minute and a half.

"Well… maybe… maybe one of them wasn't unconscious, and cast a cushioning charm," said Ron.

"How do we know? They haven't come back, have they?"

"Their time-turner broke, obviously. The only way to find out for sure is to go back to when they did, isn't it?"

"I guess, but I don't see how we can do that," said Ginny, tiredly.

"Well, they're bound to have left behind some clues. I'm going to look over Hermione's letter again. Maybe she left something in there, in code."

"Why would she leave something in code?"

"Going back in time on a whim isn't exactly legal is it?"

Ginny frowned.

"Going back in time on a whim isn't exactly like Hermione, is it? Even Harry wouldn't do that. They must have had a really good reason. Otherwise, why didn't they wait till you came up? Why didn't they owl me, for that matter?"

"Why would they owl you?"

Ginny threw a nearby hardcover book at him, which hit him on the ear.

"Ouch! Ginny!"

"I'm serious, Ron! Harry always used to tell me stuff! Come on, you confided in Hermione, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah, but that's different."

Ginny shook her head. Then, evidently deciding Ron couldn't help being stupid, she went on developing her theory.

"Anyway, they must have had a really good reason - urgent too, by the looks of it, to travel back in time."

"I'll give you an urgent reason. They were surrounded by Death Eaters!"

"Oh, come on Ron! Obviously it was planned. What I'm getting at is, if we find out why they went back we'll probably be a lot closer to finding out_ when. _Do you follow me?"

"Um, yes, I think so," said Ron, sarcastically.

"Well, good," said Ginny. She settled back in her chair, glaring at him.

After another moments' pause, Ron said,

"I'll look at the letter again, and then I'll go through their things to see if I can find the costumes, or any other things that might tell us where they are. Alright?"

"Fine," said Ginny, tonelessly.

"Er… what will you be doing?"

"I'll just go for a walk."

"Right."

"See you soon," said Ginny, getting up and pulling on her coat. "Bye."

"Bye," said Ron. For a split second he wondered where she was going, but his thoughts soon turned to the matter at hand. He pulled the letter out of the pocket of his coat, which he had not yet taken off. He unfolded it, glanced at it, and was yet again reminded of how ridiculous it was. Yet this only strengthened his idea that there was a coded message hidden within it. He looked through it carefully, reading aloud to himself.

"_Dear Ron, _

_We are all fine. Have you had a good stay in Romania? Gone With the Wind is a good film, I saw it alone yesterday, but I don't think you would have liked it._

_Back at Hogwarts, hardly a day went by when I didn't see you, and it feels weird that you've been away for two weeks. In a week I'll see you again, but until then, I'll feel very lonely. Time and again, I wish you were here. Don't think too much about it though. Worry not, for, as I said, we are quite happy! _

_If all goes well, we'll see each other again soon!_

_Love, Hermione."_

Ron read it, re-read it, and read it once more before it hit him. _Of course. _Obviously! It didn't tell him anything he hadn't already figured out for himself, but it proved his theory was right. Besides, knowing that they actually had left a message for him made him feel a lot happier, and more determined than ever to find them. He knew they were alive. He wouldn't even allow himself to consider that they might not be. "They couldn't possibly have survived that fall," Ginny had said. Preposterous! This was Harry Potter and Hermione Granger they were talking about. The Boy Who Turned Surviving Into An Art Form and the brightest witch of the century. They wouldn't allow little drop like that to kill them, would they?

No, Ron decided. Never. He tucked back the letter into his coat pocket. Then he found a piece of parchment and penned a quick note, telling Ginny he was going to Hermione's house. Leaving it on the kitchen table for her to find, he walked out at a brisk pace. When he was outside he disapparated.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: We don't own Harry Potter and don't earn money from it. We also don't own the village of Porthleven.

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**

**5. The Significance of Puniceus **

_In which Ron discovers a pedantic streak and Ginny sees what he misses. _

Well, someone had left in a hurry.

Ron looked around at the mess in the living room in Hermione's apartment. Somebody who did not really know Hermione might not have called it unusually messy. A couple of old, worn books lay stacked haphazardly on the coffee table next to the couch. Almost all of their pages were dog-eared, and they looked exactly like the kind of old tomes Hermione had always enjoyed. A blouse and a skirt had been thrown over the back of a chair. The appropriate description of the room would be that it simply wasn't neat. However, since Ron did know Hermione very well, he knew that this was quite strange indeed.

The place hadn't been touched since she had left. There had been no need to search for evidence of any kind, as everyone had thought it quite clear what had happened. The Death Eaters had been arrested close to the scene of the crime, and there was a testimony of an eyewitness. The only things missing were the bodies, but everyone agreed that those had most likely been washed out at sea and would turn up in due time.

Ron hadn't had the heart to go in there earlier, to get Hermione's stuff in order. As he was the executor of her will, no one else had gone there for that purpose either.

As he walked through the living room and into the bedroom to look through her clothes, he was seized by a sudden inane desire to clean the place up a bit. He knew how much it would annoy Hermione to come home to such a mess. This urge was quickly stifled, since he was not much of a house keeper, as Ginny continually reminded him. But he did fold the occasional stray article of clothing, many of which were scattered around the room. He also pulled all the curtains open. The sunlight streaming in made the place look more cheerful.

After having gone through every cupboard and closet he could find, his suspicions regarding the costumes were confirmed. He supposed she had been wearing the skirt and the blouse which hung on the chair, before she had changed. The first object of his search had been achieved.

Next, he started investigating all the little items that were scattered about in the living room. He leafed through the books, but they told him nothing of interest. They seemed to be concerned with various curses, magical beings and the like, which probably had to do with her training as a Curse-breaker for Gringotts. On the windowsill lay a heap of old photographs of all of them together, which made his throat tighten a bit. A newspaper lying on the coffee table caught his eye. It was open, displaying an article about a witch who had lived during the sixteenth century, who had apparently invented an antidote to a muddling potion. Ron considered the article for a moment. Then he shrugged it off. Why would Hermione and Harry risk the consequences of going back in time just to meet some potions nut?

In the end, he realized he wasn't going to find any more clues. He might as well go back to Tensington Street and inform Dawn that she would not be getting her costumes back. The flat had very powerful protecting spells, and it was in the middle of muggle London, so he couldn't disapparate until he reached Diagon Alley. He'd only walked a couple of blocks when he ran into Ginny.

"Oh, hello," she said. "Are you finished already?"

"Yeah. Didn't really find anything out, but the costumes aren't there. And guess what; the letter I got from Hermione-"

"Yeah, I know, I saw it when I came back home. Then I went to Harry's place but there was nothing there that I could find. I was going to go to Hermione's and help you look."

"You can still sniff around in there for a bit if you like. I probably missed something. I'm going to Dawn's Period Clothing to pay for the costumes. I'll see you later."

"Well, bye then."

They walked off in separate directions.

* * *

That day, Tensington Street was teeming with activity. Ron walked along the sidewalk towards Dawn's shop. The wind was blowing rather ferociously, sending showers of golden leaves over the wizards and witches who were doing their shopping. He was struck again by the particular ambience of the place. 

"Oh, hello again," Dawn said brightly, as he entered. "Changed your mind and come back? See, I've held this doublet for you."

"No thanks," said Ron, dodging the doublet as it came sailing towards him through the air. "I'm just here to pay for the costumes my friends rented."

"Ah," said Dawn. "Well, while I calculate the cost, why don't you try out this lovely frockcoat, or these hose?"

"No, no, thank you," said Ron, ducking once more. "I wanted to ask you something though."

"Yes?"

"Why do you call the costumes King Charles?"

"Well, they're supposed to resemble muggle clothes from the seventeenth century, obviously, so I named them after a muggle king from that time. Muggle studies was my favourite subject when I went to Hogwarts… here…" Distractedly, she handed him a pink hat with a yellow ribbon, and a slip of paper.

"The hat's on sale," she said anxiously. "Buy it for your sister, please."

"No, I think I just want to pay for these," said Ron. "The costumes are quite expensive enough as it is. Do you know when Charles was king?"

"Exactly when? Eh… no, I can't remember. I just know it was during the sixteen hundreds."

"Right, thank you," said Ron. He paid her for the clothes.

* * *

"I've got news," said Ron, after Ginny had let him in. "It isn't much, but it's a start." 

"Great! I've also got an idea that needs confirming."

"What've you been up to?" Ron asked, as they went into the kitchen.

"I'll tell you all about it in a moment," said Ginny, while scooping cream into a small bowl. "Tell me your news first."

Ron piled jam onto his scone and stirred his cup of tea, before answering.

"Well, I went to Dawn's like I said I would."

"Did you buy anything?" said Ginny, perking up. She had grown frighteningly fond of the things he had got her the last time.

"I could barely afford to pay for the costumes. Look, if you want more of that stuff, I can show you how to get to the place. Anyway, guess what she said."

"Did she tell you when the costumes were from?"

"Yes, she told me. They're supposed to look like they're from the sixteen hundreds."

"Ha! I thought as much."

Ron was a bit disappointed by how little this small but important clue impressed her.

"You see," Ginny went on, "I looked through some of Hermione's books when I went through her things, because I thought, whenever Hermione wanted to solve a problem, the first place she went was always the library."

"Yeah, I know. I looked in them too, but there didn't seem to be anything-"

"You didn't look properly," Ginny said impatiently.

"I did!" said Ron, annoyed.

"Clearly you didn't."

She got up, and went to fetch a book which Ron only just then noticed had been lying on the kitchen counter. She opened it and leafed through it until she found a page where the corner had been folded down. Lots of corners of the pages had been folded, and Ron hadn't paid attention to that particular one when he'd been looking through the book. Ginny smiled smugly as she pushed it towards him.

"This is the last page that's folded, so I assume that was how far she'd got," she said. "There was another reason though. Look!"

As Ron looked, his eyes widened.

"Wow," he said.

"Yeah," said Ginny.

Ron read through the page. Some of the sentences had been underlined.

"Do you think this has anything to do with anything?" he asked her, looking up.

"I'm sure of it now, considering what you told me about the costumes. Look – _"1664"_. She underlined it. Besides, the old Malfoy manor is close to the cliff where they went."

"But why would they want to see some old Malfoy?"

"Some old Malfoy who was rumoured to have invented a cure for vampire bites?" said Ginny, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "But who never told anyone what it was?"

"If he never told anyone about it, how come this book says he invented it?"

"Well, it says here; he was definitely a vampire, but seventy years after he'd been bitten he was seen walking around in broad daylight again. He was first seen out and about in 1664, but shortly after that he moved to London, and his manor was abandoned."

"Until a couple of weeks ago."

"Mmm. Apparently, Malfoys have been trying to move in there from time to time, but the house is laden with so many traps in unexpected places that even they haven't been able to stand it. They say the house almost has it's own personality," said Ginny, after glancing further down the page. "It seems to like Narcissa though, if she's managed to live there for two whole weeks."

Ron remembered the burning painting, and felt a twinge of something akin to pity stirring inside him. He quickly stifled the emotion, forcing his attention back to Ginny, who was reading aloud bits of information about the fabled Malfoy Cornwall residence.

"I think it's definitely here they went, don't you think so?"

"Yeah, I think you're probably right." It wasn't as if he had a better idea anyway. "Why would they go there though? It seems pretty risky, and just to talk to this person…"

"I know. You don't suppose someone we know has been turned into a vampire?"

"That's.. well, it's not impossible. But if it's a known fact that he could cure his vampirism, wouldn't someone have already thought of getting the potion from him then?"

"Maybe someone has tried. We don't know."

"But there isn't a cure for vampire bites, as far as we know."

"Maybe no one's managed to get it off him."

"Or maybe he didn't invent it. Maybe he was never a vampire at all. It's probably just an old legend."

"Yes, but…"

"That old Malfoy sounds like a nutcase to me. He probably locked himself up in his manor for seventy years, pretending to be a vampire while he conjured up traps all over the place."

"Hermione and Harry thought it was worth a shot."

"Yeah, well… might have been wrong, mightn't they?"

But even as Ron said it, the image came to him of that weird old portrait he'd bumped into in the corridor; the one with the sharp, canine teeth…

"Well, if we go there, we're going to need a time-turner," said Ginny.

In a flash, something else came back to him.

"Puniceus!"

Ginny blinked.

"What?"

"Er… nothing… I just remembered… broomstick convention tonight. I have to go."

Ginny narrowed her eyes.

"You know something, don't you?"

"I'd tell you if I did," said Ron.

"I didn't realize the broomstick convention was tonight."

"But you don't have a good broomstick, do you?"

"No," said Ginny, "but I'd like to go anyway – it's so interesting to see how other's take care of their brooms."

She watched him sweat for a bit.

"But I have to eat dinner with Sarah's mother," she finally sighed. "I wish I'd have known the convention was tonight. Well, have fun then."

"Yeah," said Ron, looking a bit too relieved. "See you!" Then he quickly escaped through the door.

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	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: We are sorry this hasn't been updated for so long. We have been having computer problems. It won't happen again, touch wood. Please give us feedback on this, because we do care. Thank you!**

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns it, we just like to play with it and mess it up. The old Malfoy is ours - not his surname of course, but his character. **

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**6. The Break-in**

_In which Ron, while committing a criminal act, discovers that a little bit of friendliness goes a long way._

Ron was sitting behind a shrub near the Malfoy manor, occupying himself by reading that week's issue of _Which Broomstick? _He had decided he would wait until it was completely dark before making his move.

Waiting for the sun to set gave him time to mull over his sketchy plan, and silence his scruples. He shouldn't feel bad about robbing the Malfoys of a family heirloom they probably didn't even know existed, especially considering all they had done to him and his, he told himself firmly. Lucius Malfoy had tried to kill Ginny and had killed Harry and Hermione – _almost _killed, he reminded himself.

Where his plan was concerned, he felt uneasy. It was not so much full of holes as it was a bottomless pit with a very thin, unstable rope bridge drawn across it. Yet it was all he had.

He would definitely not be able to get a time-turner from the ministry. They had grudgingly lent one to Hermione, for strategic purposes during the war, but had refused to let him and Harry touch one as they had "repeatedly proven themselves disregardful of Ministry property". Privately, he suspected they had still been holding a grudge against Harry for not wanting to co-operate with them. They certainly blamed Ron for the crashed brain tanks at the department of mysteries, and probably for the destruction of all the old time-turners as well.

The new versions were improved. One could choose if one wanted to go back years or hours, without having to tweak it much. With the old ones, it had been either one or the other, depending on the construction of the time-turner.

As Ron sat reflecting over the past, the sky gradually darkened. Soon he came to his senses, realizing that it was freezing cold, and that he couldn't read his magazine anymore. The time had come to act.

He crept up to the garden gate, not very stealthily, but all the same. He had cast a disillusionment charm upon himself so that none of the house elves would see him from one of the windows. All the lights were out in the house, so he guessed Narcissa was asleep. She'd wake up soon alright.

There were probably protective spells in the garden as well as in the house, so he would have to do it from outside.

Waving his wand, he uttered the most powerful, colourful explosion charm he could think of.

A stream of lights burst through the gates, which shook in their hinges but did not open. Ron scratched his head and tried a simpler one.

"_Reducto! Reducto reducto reducto!" _

The gate did not open. However, the iron bars started to writhe, reshaping themselves into the semblance of an evil grin. Ron was growing more and more frustrated. There were crashes and curses coming from inside the manor, as the lights were switched on. He thought he could make out Narcissa's voice – it seemed like she was doing all the cursing. Soon she would come outside, and he had to get through the gates so that he could sneak in past her…

"Please, please open!" he begged.

To his intense surprise, the gates opened. He waited, expecting some sort of trick, but nothing happened. Carefully, he crept through them. Still nothing.

"I – thanks," he said awkwardly. The gates closed, but, he noticed, the grin did not appear less evil.

Sprinting through the garden, he dodged here and there as the occasional tree took a swipe at him and rosebushes tried to eat him. He thought he could see the glowing eyes of some extremely vicious garden gnomes through the thick hedges. The door was flung open, lights spilling out onto the driveway, and he ducked out of sight, hiding behind the door. Narcissa stormed into the garden, tailed by her house elves. She looked quite fearsome, despite the pink dressing gown and the curlers in her hair.

Ron wasted no time, sneaking in through the door and running as fast as he could so that the portraits wouldn't have time to see him. However, he did not get far. When he'd reached the end of the corridor, the ground disappeared from under his feet. He had fallen into one of the old Malfoy's famous traps.

He landed in a room below, on a strategically placed mattress. For a while, the air was misty with dust.

Ron didn't have to wonder for very long why someone had bothered to put a mattress there, for a minute later the floor started rising up to meet the ceiling. The trapdoor had closed.

Frantically, he tried every single spell he knew.

"_Wingardium Leviosa! Expelliarmus! Reducto! Impedimenta!" _Nothing worked.

Suddenly he realized how helpless he was. The room had no door. There was no escape. The ceiling was coming closer and closer, and he was going to get crushed against it, like a fly.

After a while, he began to wonder which death would be the more painful: suffocating in the mattress or getting squashed on the floor – which, by the way, was taking its time. The old Malfoy must have liked to torture his guests with the fear of dying first. It was working so far.

There was no one he could ask for help, or plead with for mercy. Or was there? All of a sudden he recalled how he had got the gate to open itself.

Rolling over to look at the floor, he said,

"Please, I would be very grateful if you would be so kind as to stop and let me out."

The floor faltered a little.

"Please?"

The floor jerked upwards, more slowly.

"You know," he said desperately, "I've always admired ancient stone structures like you. Er… the architecture is so… fascinating. And… good quality. You've lasted for centuries, haven't you? That's a mark of good craftsmanship, isn't' it?"

The floor had stopped moving, and, it seemed to him, was hanging on to his every word.

"You know, modern buildings are so boring and ugly, and weak too! It's pathetic, don't you agree?"

He was talking to a floor. This was a new low.

"But a manor like you… calling you a manor is almost insulting. I mean, you're a palace among manors! Look at your turrets, they're majestic! I've never seen turrets so… aesthetically pleasing."

It could be his imagination, but it sounded almost like the floor was purring.

"Your archways are wonderfully tapered… it's not quite Romanesque, not quite Gothic… it's original. Brilliant really. The architect must have been a genius. I'd really like to examine the rest of you as well. I have a passion for… architecture. And I've never seen a house like this one, like you. You're one of a kind, you know that?"

The words had their desired effect on the room. The trapdoor reopened itself, and the floor seemed rather happy to let him out.

Ron didn't think he'd said so many polite things at one time in his life before, as he had to this house.

At least the building now seemed more inclined to help instead of hinder him. As he made his way towards the portrait gallery, doors magically opened before him, and the shadows always seemed big and dark enough to hide him from view. At one point he tripped, and was about to crash into a suit of armour, when a carpet and a tapestry somehow managed to co-operate in catching him. Whenever something like this happened, Ron was sure to give the floor or a wall a pat and whisper a few encouraging words.

When he had clambered up through the trapdoor he found himself in a part of the house he'd never seen before, but the manor was keen to remedy the situation. All the right doors opened and various statues pointed him in the right direction. One door closed on his face as he was aiming to walk through it, saving him from being discovered, for behind it he could soon hear Narcissa striding up the stairs, shouting things to her house elves.

Sure enough, he quickly reached the entrance to the portrait gallery. The portraits worried him, since one of them could wake up and raise an alarm, but they all seemed to be sleeping very heavily. So he tiptoed through the corridor, searching the faces of the snoring Malfoy ancestors, for the one with the pointed teeth. Ron found him at last, and was, somehow, not surprised at finding him awake. The portrait was not as lively as it had been the first time Ron had seen him. This time the old Malfoy seemed deeply immersed in a large book, which, on close inspection turned out be a volume on the history of Goblin rebellions. Ron regarded the portrait for a while, then reached up and gave it a light tap. The old Malfoy ignored him.

There was nothing for it. Ron gingerly eased the portrait off its hook, and carefully placed it on the floor. Then he whispered, almost inaudibly,

"_Puniceus!" _

As it had last time, the wall melted away, revealing a small opening which contained the shelf with the many strange artefacts. He grabbed the time-turner. Then his eyes fell upon the wristwatch, which had given him such a start the day before. It seemed out of place in the collection of obviously magical odds and ends. This time he took a closer look at it. It was dark, and he didn't dare light his wand for fear of awakening the other portraits, but he could still recognize it. It was definitely Harry's.

Snatching up the watch, he backed away from the opening. The wall closed over it.

He would have to think long and hard about what Harry's watch had been doing there, but not right then. Stuffing the time-turner into his pocket, Ron bent to lift the heavy portrait and hang it back on the wall. As he heaved it up, however, he noticed its occupant had abandoned its book and was gazing at him, frowning slightly.

Ron nearly missed the hook. He almost stopped breathing entirely, and took a stumbling step backwards, prepared to run if the portrait raised the alarm. But it didn't.

"Now why did you take that watch? I liked it, you know," it said, sounding annoyed more than anything else.

Ron looked around, to see if any of the other portraits had heard it, but they were still sleeping soundly. Nevertheless he drew his wand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, my friend," said the old Malfoy. "I can assure you they will not wake up."

"You… but…"

"Yes, me. But what?"  


"Er… you…"

The portrait laughed, it's eyes bulging slightly. Ron started to back away, clutching his wand tightly, ready to fling a curse at any moment. Suddenly he tripped on a flagstone, and would have cracked his scull on the floor if a carpet hadn't caught him.

"I see my house has taken a fancy to you. It is an excellent judge of character, my house is. Stay and talk to me for a bit, will you?"

"I… um… really need to be somewhere…"

"Can you not spare a moment for an old man's sake? Nobody ever comes to visit me these days. And won't you remove that disillusionment charm, so that I can see you properly? Nobody is going to discover you if the house doesn't want it. Tell me," he said, leaning forward a little. "How did you figure out the secret to the old girl?"

"What?"

"The manor! She has never taken such a shine to anyone since I was alive myself! Although, she does seem to have a soft spot for that Narcissa. First Malfoy in generations to have some proper respect for you, isn't she, my girl?" This last was evidently directed towards the building, and he reached over to give the wall in his painting a little pat.

"Not bad looking, either. Oh, but I miss walking through these halls…"

"Yeah," said Ron. "I have to go now…"

"Now that I think about it," said the old Malfoy, eyeing him thoughtfully, "I believe I recognise you. Have you ever been here before?"

"Yes," said Ron, nervously. "I mean, I was here yesterday, but…"

"Well, my old brain gets a bit foggy sometimes, but I think I have seen you, a long time ago."

"Yeah, that's a bit strange. Look, I really do have to leave, but maybe I'll come and visit you some other time."

"Have a safe journey, my boy, and don't forget to kiss the front door goodbye," the portrait said, still looking as if it was trying to remember when it might have seen Ron previously.

Ron beat a hasty retreat.

He didn't stop running until he was well out of sight of the manor. When he had reached the crest of a hill, he sank to the ground and concentrated on breathing for a while. Then he got up and started walking towards the cliff. He had decided that that would be the best place from which to travel back in time, partly because he thought it would be easier to track Harry and Hermione from where they must have landed, and partly because he didn't think there would be a risk of arriving in someone's house if he stood on the edge.

Once he had reached his destination, he hesitated. Should he have asked Ginny to come along? She did have as much right to come as he did, but if they both went, and didn't return, nobody would ever know the truth about what had happened. Besides, who knew what he might find there? He didn't want her to come with him; he didn't want to lose all he had left.

Pulling out the time-turner, he hung it around his neck and was about to turn it when he paused. Something had caught his eye. A magazine lay on the ground. Ron took a step closer. Was it a muggle magazine…? No, the picture on the front was moving. He took another couple of steps toward it, and was able to make out the title; _Witch Weekly_. It was lying on the ground right next to the shrub. This bemused him, but he shrugged it off.

Before he could begin turning the tiny hourglass however, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He spun around, and found himself face to face with...

"Ginny!"

"Yes, Ron, it's me!" Ginny shouted. "I thought I'd find you here! I can't believe you were going off without me!"

"I wasn't going, I was - look, it was just because - what are _you_ doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Ginny shrieked. "Stopping you from making the most stupid mistake of your entire life, that's what! Tell me, how were you planning to survive alone in the seventeenth century? Do you know anything about muggle life back then?"

"Well, I just thought I… how do you think you're going to help me then?" Ron demanded, beginning to feel quite angry himself. He wasn't completely stupid after all.

"I was planning on coming with you," said Ginny, her eyes blazing. "Because, first of all, you wouldn't stand a chance out there on your own. I have taken muggle studies, so I think I know a bit more than you do about this. And second, Hermione's my friend and Harry's my boyfriend! How do you think I'd be able to just sit at home, waiting to see if you would be able to rescue them all by yourself?"

"Well, if I don't manage it, you could still go back and help us! I just thought there's no point in us both-"

"Go back? How exactly am I supposed to go back without a time-turner? Did you stop to think about that? By the way, where did you get one?"

"Nicked it from the Malfoys."

"Oh." Ginny looked nonplussed for a second. Then she rallied herself. "Well, if one of us was going back, why not me? Why must it be you all the time? I have just as much right as you do to help-"

"I just wanted to-"

"You just wanted to protect me, didn't you? I'm a grown woman, Ron! I've never needed your protection in my life, least of all now!"

"Don't put words in my mouth, I wasn't going to say that."

They glared at each other for a long moment.

"Fine, you can come," Ron muttered at last.

"I need your permission even less than I need your protection, Ron," Ginny snapped, grabbing hold of the chain of the time-turner and hanging it around her neck.

They stood huddled close together, while Ron turned the hourglass over and over. Luckily it was a year-turner instead of an hour-turner, but they still had to turn it more than three hundred times. Every now and then he looked up, trying to imagine what Harry and Hermione must have felt when they had stood at the same spot two weeks earlier, surrounded by Death Eaters.

At last they were finished. Ron had a feeling of getting jerked backwards, and for a split second he was afraid they were going to fall over the edge, before he realized they were travelling. Everything around them was a dark blur. They were travelling back exactly one year at the time, so it was constantly night, but there were occasional flashes of colour which Ron supposed to be humans. Every once in a while, lightning lit up the scene for half a second.

It seemed to go on forever. Just as Ron was beginning to panic, sure that something had gone wrong, they hit the ground.

They fell to their knees at the shock of the impact, gasping for breath. Then they both simply sat there for a while, trying to regain their sense of direction.

"We're in the sixteen hundreds now. Aren't we?" said Ginny, finally.

"I don't know. Do you want to ask someone?"

"There's nobody here," she said. "Except…" her voice trailed away. Ron looked up, and felt a shiver run up his spine.

A dark figure, silhouetted against the moonlight, was walking rapidly towards them.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a story with few reviews, must be really difficult to update. Seriously people. We do need motivation. And if you've been put off by our apparent multiple personality disorder, the reason why we refer to ourselves this way is because there's actually two of us. Working together. In harmony. Yes…**

**Anyway. In this chapter, we've included a man from the 1600's. He does not speak Ye Olde English, for we would only botch it. However, We have tried not make his speech all that modern. If we have… notify us? Please? **

**Disclaimer: All J. K. Rowling's, and no money for us, boohoo. **

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**7. **– **The Curious Man**

_In which our Hermione saves the day… or night… or whatever, and Harry fails to talk his way out of a situation._

The air rushed in Hermione's ears, and she could see the ground coming closer and closer. They were going to die. They were going to be smashed against the ground, splattered across the sand, their sculls would smash and their brains would ooze out of their dead ears. Then the tide would come in, and the sea would wash their remnants away. Ron would never know what had become of their bodies. They were going to die…

_No we're not, silly!_

As Hermione's mind was lost in panic and despair, her other nature took over. The one that was incapable of feeling fear, and always knew what to do. The one that had been living in her head for the last couple of days, whose advice she generally felt cautious about obeying. Right then she gratefully let it take control, and started flying.

Well, perhaps falling slower was a better word. Hermione had never been much of a flyer after all, and in her new state, she was not much better. In fact, she felt weak. It was strange really; she had supposed that, as a vampire, she would be stronger than she had been, but so far it had all been a haze of dizzy nausea, exhaustion and an almost unbearable craving for blood.

She tried hard not to think about how she was clutching Harry very tightly, and that he was unconscious and couldn't resist if she tried to sink her fangs into his arm. She couldn't even take a little nibble at his fingers. He would resent her for doing something like that, she was sure.

They were going considerably slower now, but she could feel herself slipping away into unconsciousness. It was taking too much out of her. In a last effort, she shifted her burden so that she wouldn't land on top of him. As she did, she could feel the chain of the time-turner breaking, but even as she realized this, the world around her went blurry, and she passed out.

* * *

A wave washed over her. Coughing and spluttering, she sat up. The tide was coming in. 

It took her a moment to understand where she was, and remember what had happened. After spitting out the sand in her mouth, she looked around for Harry. He was lying on his back a few feet away, still unconscious. At least she hoped he was just unconscious.

After a couple of attempts, she managed to stand up. Once everything had stopped spinning around her, she hobbled over to the prone form of Harry, dry heaving all the while. Even a vampire's quick regeneration abilities couldn't immediately counteract the effects of having fallen of a cliff and lain unconscious for a few hours.

_A few hours…_ thankfully, the sky was still dark, but her instincts told her that dawn was not far off.

She sank to her knees beside Harry.

"_Enervate!" _

He sat up abruptly. Then he rolled over and threw up. Hermione quickly edged away.

"Are you… um… okay?" she asked, when he had stopped retching.

Harry didn't answer for a while. Instead he got to his feet and staggered unsteadily to the water's edge, to rinse out his mouth.

"Where are we?" he asked, finally. "What happened?"

Hermione explained, as best she could. Her own memory of the events was hazy at best, but she had stayed conscious longer than he, at least, and could vaguely remember the feeling of flying backwards – backwards in time…

"It worked, didn't it? It must have," Harry muttered. He was pale, and shaking, but his eyes were beginning to focus.

"Yes, I think so," said Hermione. However, as she reached for the chain around her neck, she remembered what had happened. "Harry, it's gone!" she exclaimed, frantically scanning the beach. "The time-turner! The chain broke in the fall! How are we going to get home?"

She looked for the place where she had landed, but the tide had already come in, and the waves which had woken her up were now completely covering the spot.

"Hermione," said Harry. "I really think we should get off the beach."

"But the time-turner! How are we going to get home?"

"We'll get a new one somehow."

"No, wait, I know." She drew her wand. "_Accio time-turner!"_

From the water emerged a small object, which, trailing a long chain, flew to her hand. She groaned.

"_Reparo!" _she muttered, waving her wand over it. "Oh, please... _Reparo!"_

"It's no use, Hermione."

"But how are we-"

"I know! We'll manage it somehow, okay? Right now we need to get away."

"Oh, what's the point of trying to fix it? We'd need tons of charms to make it work again, anyway," said Hermione, slumped in defeat. She tossed the time-turner into the ocean, were it sank with a ploink! into the water.

"Okay," said Harry. "The sun'll come up soon I guess. We'll talk about this in the evening."

She turned to him.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Come on then."

She started walking off, but when Harry tried to follow her his knees gave way and he collapsed. In the end, they got going, him with an arm around her shoulders for support.

* * *

It had been a hard climb, with Hermione half dragging, half carrying Harry up the steep path they had found, and when they had reached the top it had been all they could do to crawl a few feet away from the edge and collapse, once again, onto the grass. 

"The coffin," Harry muttered. "I think I have it… yes…"

He pulled out what appeared to be a small wallet from the inside pocket of his jerkin, and transfigured it into a big wooden coffin. Hermione got to her knees, crawled over and heaved herself into it. Then she pulled the lid over it.

"Good morning," she thought she heard Harry say, as she drifted off to sleep.

She would worry about everything tomorrow. The only thing she allowed herself to think about right then was that she was safe - for the time being.

* * *

The first thing Harry registered when he woke up was a terrible headache. Then, as he blinked, he saw that a man was standing over him, with a confused expression of his face. 

Harry stood up, feeling rather dazed himself. The man glanced at the coffin, and back to Harry. It hit Harry how very odd it must look, with him lying there fast asleep right next to a coffin at the edge of a steep cliff.

"Excuse me, young sir, are you ill?" the man asked.

"No, thank you. I mean, yes, a little, I was just resting here for a bit," said Harry.

"You have been fast asleep for quite a while. My good neighbour, Mr Smith, saw you out here in the early morning hours," said the man. "Claimed he saw a woman climbing into that there coffin. He is a wee bit afraid of ghosts, and so he did not care to investigate it. Told me to get up here as soon as the sun come up. Would you explain it to me?"

His voice was mild, but all the same, he appeared to be studying Harry carefully, and his hand rested on a heavy-looking walking stick.

"Er," said Harry. For a moment, he was completely at loss for words. Then an idea struck him. "Er… well, she was my sister, you see."

"Your sister?"

"Yeah. Yes. You see, she was ill. She was dying. And last night we were out for one last walk. She always said she wanted to die out here, so we brought the coffin along. I… we always used to walk here when we were children, and… you know. It was her last wish."

"You mean," said the man, his eyes wide, "You mean to say, the poor lass is in this coffin still? At this very hour? She is dead then?"

"Yeah. Yes she is." Harry tried to squeeze some moisture out of his eyes. It proved to be impossible, so he settled for looking melancholy instead. The man seemed horrified.

"But young sir, why are you lying out here? What is the meaning of this?"

"Oh, after… after she died, I could not leave her side, but my despair deprived me of the strength to carry her to shelter," said Harry in a rush. "She wanted to be buried in the family grave down in Porthleven."

This was a bit a gamble. Harry didn't even know if Porthleven existed at this time, but he didn't dare make up another village name.

"The fishing village down 'ere?" said the man. "I was going there myself. I will help you carry it if you let me, young master."

"Oh no!" shouted Harry, as the man started to lift up the coffin. "No, it's my burden, and mine alone! She said to me, with her last dying breath," he improvised quickly, "she made me promise to carry it myself. She did not want anyone else to touch the coffin. She was very adamant about it, sir."

He looked at the man imploringly.

"Well, if you are sure…" he seemed uncertain.

"Yes, yes I'm absolutely sure. She told me only I was to take her to her last resting place. We were so very close…" Harry finally managed to make his eyes water, by keeping them open for what felt like several minutes.

"So be it, then," said the man, slowly. "Seems a strange thing to wish for, only letting you carry that coffin… well, good luck, my boy. I am sorry for your loss. God bless you."

"Er… thanks. Bye."

The man started walking off. Harry heaved a sigh of relief. He cast a charm on the coffin to make it lighter, and lifted it easily. Now, he only had to find the manor. He had thought of asking the muggle for directions, but that would be stretching the credibility of his story a bit, and besides, it might be magically hidden.

As he was standing there with the coffin resting on his shoulder, contemplating which direction to go, the muggle unexpectedly turned around.

"Hey!" he shouted, and ran back. Harry wondered what he wanted with him now.

"How can you carry that there coffin on your shoulder so easily?" the man demanded as soon as he'd reached him.

Harry rather belatedly realized his mistake, and promptly dropped the coffin on the ground. A small voice from inside it cried,

"Ouch!"

The man gasped.

"Er," said Harry. He thought he knew what was going to come next. Sure enough, the man pointed a shaky finger at him and bellowed,

"What in the name of heaven is going on? Is this some manner of witchcraft, or is she still alive in there?"

Harry quickly drew his wand.

"_Obliviate!" _

The man blinked.

"I seem to have suffered a spell of faintness," he said. "I beg your pardon, but what was I saying to you just now?"

"You were offering to help carry this coffin with my dead sister, but I politely declined," Harry said. "Since you're in such a dreadful hurry to get home, remember?"

"Oh, yes, of course," the man said. "I should leave this instant. Thank you young man, and I am very sorry for your loss – God bless you!"

"Goodbye," said Harry. "I hope you make it in time."

The man started running towards the village, this time without turning back. Harry stood staring after him for a few minutes. Then he lifted up the coffin, and began wondering once more which direction he ought to go. They had of course checked the location of the manor before travelling back in time, but annoyingly, the landscape had changed somewhat since – or before – then. There were trees where there shouldn't be any, and the cliffs were bigger. He didn't see any roads. All the same, he couldn't just stand there all day.

Finally, he went in what he thought was the right direction, supposing he'd find the place eventually.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sooo, we're going on vacation for a month or so, and we won't have any internet access. But here's a suggestion; if, in the mean time, you give us lots and lots of shiny reviews, then we might just have a double update for you when we get back! Sound good? Please, people, we're not asking a lot.**

**Disclaimer: We do, in fact, own the old Malfoy. Not his name, of course, but him. He's ours. Ours and ours alone! Muahaha! The rest belongs to the amazing J. K. Rowling.**

**8. - The Old Malfoy**

_In which Hermione has an unpleasant breakfast and the old Malfoy remembers his manners._

It looked the same.

Harry had wandered about for the past hour and a half, luckily without meeting any more muggles. During that time he had observed how unnervingly quiet it was everywhere. There was of course the sound of the waves, and the occasional chirping of birds, but no distant cars, or airplanes flying overhead. He could never have imagined what a huge difference that would make, even out in the countryside. The air felt fresh and cold. Everything was changed, except for Malfoy manor. Malfoy manor looked exactly the same.

Standing at the crest of a hill, he had a good view of it. Hermione in her coffin was safely hidden away in a copse nearby. Harry was planning to go hunting for some rodents, or anything else which might contain a fairly generous portion of blood. Otherwise shewould be crazy for it. He had seen her like that before.

His stomach also made it very plain to him that he had to find something for himself to eat. Of course he had brought a few provisions, but they had been ruined by the water.

After covering the coffin with his invisibility cloak, he cast a Keep Away charm around it, just to be on the safe side.

-

Hours later, he stumbled back towards where he had left Hermione, and collapsed next to the slight indentation in the grass which showed where the coffin was. It was starting to get dark. Harry could hardly wait until she woke up, so that he would have someone besides himself to talk to. In the mean time, he lit a fire inside a small jar. Then he roughly peeled one of the turnips he'd stolen, washed it with a jet of water from his wand, and proceeded to roast, or rather, burn it over the fire.

After another half hour, when the sky was pitch black, he could hear the lid of the coffin lifting a bit. Without bothering to turn around he removed the protection charm.

He could hear Hermione clambering out.

"Good evening. Rabbit?" He said, handing her one as she came to sit next to him by the fire.

"A rabbit? Oh, that's disgusting," she said, grimacing as she sank her teeth into it.

"Three rabbits," Harry corrected her. "And they were hard to catch you know."

"You cu'v summ thm," she said, through a mouth full of fur.

"Couldn't," said Harry. "There must be millions of rabbits here, I didn't want them all to come flying at me. I had to find them individually and stun them. Anyway, look." He pointed at the manor, just barely discernible through the trees.

"Is that it?" Hermione asked, discarding the carcass. "I was wondering if you'd find your way. The landscape's bound to have changed a bit of course. I forgot to warn you about that."

"Yeah, I noticed that for myself."

They finished up eating in companionable silence. Then Hermione yawned and got to her feet, stretching and wiping her mouth. She looked worn, Harry observed. Her face had an unhealthy pallor, her cheeks were hollow and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was lank and her shoulders stooped. Ever since the night she had been bitten, she had seemed constantly exhausted and ill.

He got up as well, brushing himself off. It was time to pay a visit to the old Malfoy. Harry transformed the coffin back into a wallet and slipped it into his backpack. Hermione had already started walking, so he had to jog to catch up with her.

The silence which had been peaceful during the day was positively frightening at night, even more so considering where they were going. It seemed unnatural that there were no people around and no lights from distant houses; just the dark, looming presence of the Malfoy manor, which they were rapidly approaching.

"How are we going to get in?" Hermione asked, when they reached the gate.

"We could try blasting it open," suggested Harry.

"I don't think that will work. He's probably put up lots of defensive charms."

"Well, what do you suggest? Should we ask it nicely to let us in?" 

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "Maybe we could send up some sparks. Then he might come out and talk to us."

"What, do you think he'll come out for a friendly little chat? He's a Malfoy."

"Well, it's no use trying to break in there and steal it, is there? We don't know where it is, or if it even exists."

She was referring to the fabled potion for curing vampirism. Hermione had come across a reference to it in her frenetic search for a cure, and as it was the only lead they had, they had decided to go for it. They had reasons for not disregarding old legends entirely, seeing as the Philosopher's Stone and the Chamber of Secrets had turned out to be perfectly real. Hermione had steadfastly refused to tell Ron about her ailment until they were absolutely sure that there was no hope for a cure. Harry still didn't know why.

They sent up their sparks, and sure enough, the door burst open and a house elf bounded towards them.

"Hello! Good evening," said Harry. "Could we see your master, please?"

"Master is not home," the house elf shouted. "You is going away now!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. Somehow he doubted that the house elf was telling the truth.

"Please," said Hermione, evidently thinking the same thing, "it's urgent. We have to speak to him for a minute."

"Master is gone away!" the house elf shrieked, hopping up and down. "You is going! Go!"

"Who might you be?" said a voice from the doorway. "What are you doing here? What is your business?"

A man had stepped out onto the threshold. He was bent and supported himself with a walking stick, but was still tall. Although they couldn't make out his features in the dark, they saw that had a thick mane of hair and wore a long cloak.

"Sir," Hermione called. "Sir, we really must speak with you. It is of great importance. Please!"

"You is not bothering my master! You is-"

"That will do, Crinkly," said the old Malfoy. "If you would be so kind as to allow them inside."

Crinkly immediately calmed down. She bowed, and opened the gate.

"This way please, lady… sir…"

Hermione looked both astonished and pleased. Harry thought it was not least because the old Malfoy had spoken kindly to his house elf. As they quickly walked through the garden, he noticed that the tree branches were swaying dangerously above them, although there was no wind. He felt glad to reach the door and be let inside.

The interior as well as the exterior was made of stone. Tapestries and carpets in rich green shades, varied here and there with touches of purple, covered the walls and floors. It was almost as if someone had tried to give the hallway a warmer feel. If so, he had not succeeded. The place chilled Harry to the bone. He felt as if he was being constantly watched, and judging by the way Hermione kept glancing around, her eyes shifting uneasily, she sensed it too. He couldn't explain it. After all, there were no portraits on the walls.

"Welcome to my humble home," said the old Malfoy. Now they could see he had a lined face, but he didn't seem as decrepit as he had at first. His nose was long and pointed, and his eyes looked dark and empty. He seemed tired.

"Thank you, sir," said Hermione. She did a clumsy courtesy, and nudged Harry in the ribs.

"Thank you," he echoed, bowing stiffly.

"May I enquire as to your names?" asked the Malfoy politely.

"Oh – my name is Hermione Jane Granger, and this is my friend, Harry Potter."

"Well then, Hermione Jane Granger, I am pleased to make your acquaintance," he said. He took her hand, and looked her in the eyes for a long moment before bowing over it.

"And yours as well, Mr Potter. Though I must confess I am curious," he said. "There are no wizarding families hereabouts bearing these names."

They glanced at each other nervously. If he shared the general Malfoy hatred for muggleborns, they couldn't count on any help from him.

"We are… not from around here," said Hermione. "We have travelled very far… from London, in fact, sir."

"London? I know many a wizard from those parts. I myself will be moving there in a few months' time. But I know of no Potters or Grangers in London." He did not make it a question, but it was obvious he expected an explanation.

"We… we don't actually live there… I mean…" Hermione stammered. Harry wanted to help her, but didn't know what he could say in order to remedy the situation.

The Malfoy smiled.

"Of course. Perhaps you are not from wizarding families," he said.

Harry and Hermione both caught their breaths, waiting for the explosion. They made ready to draw their wands, even though Harry felt it would be incredibly impolite to do so.

"Do not misunderstand me," the Malfoy continued. "I have quarrel with non-magic folk. As the lord knows, I have received more kindness in this past year from my muggle neighbours in Porthleven, than I have ever received from my pureblood relations during my long life."

Just how long had that life been? Harry wondered.

"But come. You must be weary. You say you have travelled far, and I can easily tell this is true. Come into my sitting room, and we will talk. Crinkly, would you mind terribly if I asked you to make a pot of tea for our guests?"

"Of course not, Master," the house elf shrilled, scuttling off in what Harry presumed to be the direction of the kitchen. Hermione beamed at the old Malfoy.

Was it possible? Had they actually found the white sheep of that infamous clan?

"Well then, my friends," said the old Malfoy, once they were all comfortably seated in the drawing room. "Kindly oblige an old man by telling me a bit about yourselves. I get so little conversation nowadays."

"Well, our business here is…" began Harry.

"Oh no, that can wait," said the Malfoy. "First, tell me about the place where you came from. How is London this time of year?"

"Er…" said Harry. "Fine. Brilliant. Er… lots of rain. And people selling… fish, and… things." He'd run out of steam.

"I see," said the old Malfoy. "But what is happening in the wizarding community? I have been out of touch with my friends in Diagon Alley for quite some time."

"Well, actually, he lives outside of London," said Hermione. "But I have been there for the past six weeks."

Harry watched her apprehensively. Now what was she going to come up with? Of course, she had actually paid attention in History of Magic class, so she stood a better chance than he did in this interrogation. On the other hand, she was a terrible actress.

"The goblins are in state of upheaval, you know. The talk goes that there might be an uprising soon."

The old Malfoy leaned forward in his chair, his interest piqued.

"I see. Well, that comes not as a complete surprise to me, for I have had dealings with the goblins for many a year and I have come to understand that they are not often treated with respect by wizards, and consider their rights sorely infringed upon. I must confess my sympathies lie not entirely with my fellow wizards."

"You do seem very liberal minded, sir, if I may say so."

Harry was impressed with the way Hermione managed to keep her speech as old fashioned as possible. It didn't sound entirely authentic, but it was much better than anything he could summon up at the moment. He didn't dare enter the conversation for fear of embarrassing himself again, but didn't like just sitting there without saying a single word. He felt it was extremely rude of him, and it was important to gain the old Malfoy's good will in order to get his co-operation.

"Indeed, my experiences with a certain oppressed minority have proven to me the foolishness of judging others simply because of their species. I do not like the condescending attitude many wizards adopt toward those who are not like them."

Of course, Harry thought; the Malfoy been a vampire himself, hadn't he? So it was only natural that he would have that standpoint. All the same, Harry couldn't help but feel rather uneasy. It was a nice change, certainly, to meet a Malfoy with somewhat modern sensibilities, who wasn't a complete bigot, but still it seemed as if he was testing them, scrutinizing them, watching their reactions to what he said. Perhaps he had already realized Hermione was a vampire. If he had, he must also have figured out why they were there, but why didn't he want to talk about it? Why had he changed the subject?

"This attitude which you speak of, is quite common among several old pureblood families I have met," Harry said carefully.

"Not least my own, I suspect," said the old Malfoy, smiling slightly. Harry had the oddest feeling that he knew exactly where this conversation was heading, and was struck by a sense of foreboding.

"Yes," he said, meeting the Malfoy's gaze. "In particular."

Hermione twitched and Harry was sure she would have sent him a murderous look if she'd dared. He didn't know what he was doing either, but it was too late to back down.

"Now," said the Malfoy, "while I'm no longer pray to my particular condition…" here he looked pointedly at Hermione, "they are still quite keen to avoid me at all costs. I only ever see them when they want something from me. That is not very kind of them, is it?"

They were quiet for a moment.

"No, sir," Hermione said finally.

"No indeed, no indeed..." He seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then he seemed to collect himself. "But enough of this idle talk. I see that you are eager to be honest, which is admirable. Regrettably, you also suspect me incapable of this, because of my unfortunate family connections. I suppose you have good reason to, but let me assure you, my young friends, that I never intended anything but to be perfectly honest with you from the start. From now on, let us speak nothing but the truth to each other. Let me begin by saying, that you are not the first time-travellers to come into this house."

During the stony silence that followed this statement, Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat and Harry waited with bated breath. Hermione was the first to speak.

"But… there have been no accounts, no records of any expeditions…"

"I have made sure of that, yes," said the Malfoy.

There was a clattering sound, and soon Crinkly scurried through the door, carrying a heavy tray laden with teacups and plates of crumpets.

"You are a bit late again, Crinkly," said the old Malfoy. "Now what will our noble guests think of our hospitality. You don't drink tea, I take it, miss?" this he addressed to Hermione, who slumped a bit.

"No, thank you sir," she said, sounding resigned. "I have already… eaten."

"Oh, will I be missing a neighbour in the morning?" he said, his eyes twinkling. "No, I can see by your expression that this kind of behaviour still disgusts you. You are indeed young, my dear."

He had been polite enough, hadn't he, Harry thought, and he seemed open-minded, unusually so considering how he treated Crinkly. Perhaps there was some hope that he would let them go.

Meanwhile, the old Malfoy had started pouring tea. With a hand that shook, ever so slightly, he gave Harry a cup and took one for himself.

"As to why you are here," he said, sipping his tea, "I expect you're after my much talked of potion. Just like everybody else who has arrived here these last few years. I have received a quantity of visitors, from my future and probably from yours as well. They all wished to _cure _some friend or relative who had been bitten, but never before has an actual vampire come knocking on my door, seeking this old legend."

"Is it only a legend then?" Hermione asked, a note of despair creeping into her voice. Then her eyes widened. "But that can't be right… you're drinking the tea…"

"You are an observant young lady, I see," said the Malfoy. "You are right. The 'cure' does indeed exist. And perhaps after this little talk you will have figured out what my sentiments are, regarding this cure. Calling it a cure, you see, will imply that the person who drinks it is afflicted by a disease."

"Then what would you say vampirism is?" Harry asked.

"Something which _you _cannot possibly understand. Nor you," he said to Hermione, "until you have experienced it for as long as I did. I could give you the cure, but I would not be doing you a favour. You would feel happy to see the sunlight at first, but then you would wake up one morning, only to realize your life was almost spent, and you would curse the day you let go of immortality."

Harry was immediately and unpleasantly reminded of Voldemort. Maybe their little expedition hadn't been such a good idea. He tried to think of an excuse for them to leave.

"But just like everyone else you come here, wanting only to rid yourself of the terrible curse," said the Malfoy. "Is that not so?"

"Well," said Harry, "yes, but if you're not interested helping us, we really shouldn't bother you anymore."

"No, Harry, we need to talk this through! If you don't mind," said Hermione to the Malfoy, "I'd like to ask you to think about it for a moment. This is very important to me. Honestly, I just can't live like this. I'm not made that way. I'm not going to ask you to brew any more of the potion, but if you have some left, or if you could give us the recipe, it would mean a lot. We're not asking anything from you really…"

"And you shall get nothing," said the Malfoy. "You speak of not being suited for this. Well, no one ever is, but we adapt. Or we die. Why should you be any different? What is so special about you?"

"Well," said Hermione, fumbling for words. "You took it!"

"I was a fool. But I have learnt. And I will not give _you_ the easy way out."

"Well then," said Harry. He felt angry for Hermione's sake, but all the same, his trepidation regarding the place was growing with every second and he wanted out. "I guess we'll leave. Come on, Hermione."

"I am afraid not," said the old Malfoy.

Suddenly, Harry realized he could not move his arms. He tried to stand up, but felt as if invisible ropes had tied him to the chair.

"You see, I did not give you my permission to leave. This is my house, and you are here on my terms. I have listened patiently as you have told me your petty little business. Now you shall listen just as patiently to me."

All at once his entire countenance seemed to change. He was smiling, but the cheerful expression was unpleasantly at odds with his next words.

"I do not like wizards. Or witches, for that matter. And I do not like them coming to my home, expecting me to give them whatever they might ask for, while giving nothing in return. Thinking I will gratefully accept what little crumbs they choose to throw, simply because I was once a vampire."

"But we haven't…" Hermione began.

"Haven't you, my dear? Think carefully. Indeed you shall have time to think long and hard about it. I have a little hobby, you see. Hobby is a wonderful word, isn't it? I picked it up from a fellow from the twentieth century, whose aunt was rather badly afflicted by the _disease._"

Harry shivered.

"Yes, I am an avid collector," said the Malfoy, "of time-travellers."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: It's still not our's...**

**A/N: Because of computer problems, we've been gone for much longer than we intended. We are now using a new computer, though, and the next chapter should be uploaded in a couple of days, after we're through proofreading it. Cheers!**

**9– The Dungeon**

_In which Hermione doesn't have a very nice time._

When Hermione woke up, she was lying on a hard, cold stone floor. Something was dangling above her head. She already knew what it was before her eyes had adjusted to the gloom. She could smell it. Garlic.

She tried to get to her feet, but could barely move. It was because of the garlic, she supposed, and because of her fierce craving for blood. She had read all about the effects of garlic on vampires, but could never have imagined how it would really feel.

She must have been out for hours. With no windows, it was impossible to even tell if it was night or day. Although her head was spinning, she slowly began to recall what had happened.

Again she tried to sit up, in vain. She could hear the sound of footsteps outside of the dungeon. The lock clicked, and the door opened.

She lifted her head. She had expected it to be the Old Malfoy come to explain himself, but outlined against the light in the doorway was Crinkly the house elf bringing a tray of something. Hermione thought she could smell fresh blood.

"Are you awake, miss?" asked Crinkly.

She made a croaking noise of assent.

"Master said to Crinkly to give you this to eat."

Why keep her alive like this? Wouldn't it be easier to just let her starve?

"I can't move," she whispered in a voice unlike her own. "Please help me."

Crinkly looked frightened.

"Here miss," she said, scurrying over with the bottle of blood. With Crinkly's aid Hermione managed to down all of it, although some of it spilled out over her face.

"Thanks," she muttered. She felt a little bit better, though the stench of the garlic still overpowered her. Crinkly stood up hastily, and nearly tripped over her own feet in her hurry to get out of the room. The door closed with a loud clang behind her, and Hermione could hear the key turning in the lock once more.

Nothing else happened for several hours. She remained on the floor, dizzy and ill.

The next day – or so she thought, having lost all real sense of time – the footsteps returned, but this time they were heavier, and she could also hear the clunk-clunk-clunk of a cane. The lock clicked and the door opened to reveal the old Malfoy, who had decided to pay her a visit at last.

"How are you feeling today, Miss Granger?" he asked pleasantly.

Hermione glared up at him and kept her mouth shut.

"I see," he said. "I thought the blood would strengthen you enough to speak. I would be most interested to learn more about you and your friend."

His last words triggered something within Hermione, and she couldn't keep herself from bursting out,

"What have you done with Harry? Where is he?"

"He is fine, for the moment."

_For the moment. _The threat, though unspoken, was nevertheless quite clear. She would have to tell him anything he asked her about. But what did he want from them? She couldn't think straight because of the garlic, so chances were she would say more than she would like.

"So," he said. "To begin with, would you mind terribly telling me more about Mr Potter?"

She would, but couldn't see that she had a lot of choice, so, stalling, she said,

"He's my friend."

"So I gathered. But who is he?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"As a person. I do not care much about social or political standing, as you know by now. Describe to me what kind of a person he is."

"You could talk to him yourself," said Hermione, who felt very tired.

"But I want to hear it in your own words. Is he a good friend? Is he loyal to you? He went through a lot of trouble to help you, that is clear."

"Well, of course he did. And what do you mean by loyal? Why do you ask?"

"Because I want to hear your opinion, of course. It is not unusual for a newly made vampire to suddenly find herself quite devoid of friends she previously considered close. Yet he came with you here. I wonder, what did he think of this little quest of yours? Did he believe you would succeed?"

"Well, no," Hermione said before she could stop herself. "I mean, he didn't think there was much of a chance, but neither did I really. We just thought it was worth a try."

"Why then, if _you _did not think there was much of a chance, did you put your friend through all this?"

"I didn't force him to come."

"But you knew he would."

"I didn't know. He could have said no."

"Did you imply that you would have gone regardless of whether or not he went with you?"

"I… well… what's the point with all this anyway?"

"My dear girl, I am merely attempting to get an idea of your character, and his. You cannot begrudge me this."

"Yes I can."

"And why is that, might I ask?"

"Well, because… just because, okay? Go away."

Hermione didn't feel like herself at all. It was as if her mind was full of fog. She was very uncomfortable with the feeling and hoped very much he would leave and let her sleep it off somehow, even though that would hardly help as it was probably the garlic which caused it.

Malfoy sighed heavily.

"It would be well for you to keep in mind that you will be here for quite some time. You may as well speak."

"Well, what can I tell you? We went back in time to find a cure for my vampirism, alright?"

"Let us look farther back than that. How, pray tell, did you become a vampire? Who bit you?"

"It was a young man I worked with. He had just been bitten himself, and I tried to help him. He didn't know what he was doing."

"Ah. I see. I thought it might have been one of my old friends."

"Does it matter?"

"No… I suppose not."

He gazed at her in silence for a while.

"But is it really that horrible to you?"

"What?"

"Vampirism. Is it really as unbearable as you claim? Is being free of it truly worth all this pain and effort?"

"Yes," said Hermione firmly, despite the protests of the small nagging voice at the back of her mind. "Of course it is."

"You have known it only for a very short while. It is difficult to accept it in the beginning; I know that, but gradually you come to see the world through new eyes. There is so much to discover, and so little time, for mortals. But when you are a vampire, you have all the time in the world."

This was undeniably true, though Hermione didn't like to admit it to herself. She struggled to find a counter argument, with the garlic smog filling her brain, clogging her thoughts. Finally, she said,

"But… to outlive all my friends and family… that would be awful…"

"That is of no matter. Soon enough you will come to realize they are quite superfluous. You _will_ get used to it. You will see what is important, and learn to disregard that which is not."

"What… like Harry?"

"Yes, like Harry."

"But that's terrible! How can you say something like that?" she exclaimed, his words finally breaking through the smog, granting her a moment's clarity. "The way I see it, there isn't anything good with vampirism at all. Every night I'm forced to drink blood. I can barely control it anymore, and I keep thinking of killing people. You might say it's because I'm young, but I'll never get used to being like this! I'm dangerous to my friends, and I won't be able to marry someone according to the laws…"

"Aha. Now I begin to see your problem. But fear not. Him you will also forget about."

"I'll never forget about him. Or Harry, or anyone else."

"So you say now, but such love does never last. Humans are fickle. Changeable. You must learn instead to direct your affections to something more permanent."

"Like… what?"

"I will leave you to ponder that," said the Malfoy, and he turned to leave. Suddenly he looked back at her over his shoulder. "I will return in a fortnight. Then we shall see how much you are willing to forget."

With that he left, closing the door with a clang. She could hear his receding footsteps, and soon the door locked, apparently of its own accord.

At first she scorned his last remark, but as the days crawled by she began to feel afraid. Could it happen? Could she forget Harry and Ron, Ginny, her parents, Gringotts, Hogwarts, her life? The part of her that was still capable of rational thinking screamed _no! _yet a small insidious voice, which only seemed to grow stronger the more she tried to suppress it, whispered _yes._ It was very possible.

She had to get out.

How was she supposed to think up a plan, with that infernal garlic hanging above her head? She would have to do something about that, and soon. As she lay there in the dark with nothing but her thoughts for company, an idea began to form. She would have to get someone else to remove the garlic, or at the very least, move it a bit farther away. Then she might be able to think straight.

She could never get the old Malfoy to do it of course. But what about the house elf, Crinkly?

-

After what seemed like several days, Crinkly came back with a new bottle. Hermione felt weaker than ever. She wanted the blood, but had already made up her mind about what she had to do first.

As soon as the elf stepped through the door, she fixed her face into a panicked expression and started twitching, gasping for breath.

"I can't breathe… the garlic… ack…"

"Miss!" shrieked the elf, dropping her tray. "What is wrong?"

"The… the garlic… it's killing me…" she went into fake spasms. "You have to take it away…"

"I… I can't, miss," said the elf, sounding panicky herself. "I is not allowed to…"

"Please," Hermione whispered, trying her best to sound as if she was on death's threshold. "Can't you… move it? Please…" then she went limp, forcing her eyes to roll back into her head.

This, she mused, was probably the best bit of acting she had ever done. Perhaps the reason it worked so well was because it wasn't far from how she really felt at that moment.

She waited with bated breath. Her idea was that, since the old Malfoy clearly wanted her alive for whatever reason, Crinkly would have orders to make sure she was marginally alright. The poor house elf hopefully didn't know that garlic seldom affected a vampire as badly as she pretended it did.

For a few seconds nothing happened, and Hermione started to wonder if her plan had failed. Then there was a faint cracking noise, and suddenly the garlic stench lessened considerably.

She opened her eyes slowly, and took a deep breath. It felt marvellous. The garlic was still there, but it had moved to the other end of the room, and the change was so great that she began to feel slightly alive for the first time in a week. Her mind was almost clear. But something else had taken up residence. Her vampire voice was whispering to her, now that it was no-longer subdued, and was getting quite vocal, as she was too weak to effectively repress it.

_Blood… Now. I am very hungry. _

"The bottle – bring me the bottle."

Fortunately, it was a metal bottle and hadn't broken when it hit the floor. Crinkly hurried over to pick it up, and quickly made her way over to Hermione. She greedily swallowed all the blood in one long gulp.

-

As the days passed, she gradually began to regain her strength. Whenever she heard Crinkly approach with the regular "meals", she would lie down on the floor and feign helplessness. She did not want word to reach the old Malfoy that she was recovering, since she still needed time to think of a plan.

She had discovered early on that she couldn't approach the door, or even look at it directly. Although she couldn't see it, she guessed that there was a wild rose, or a similarly powerful item nailed to it, to prevent her from leaving. Wild roses were among the most effective weapons used against vampires after all. She would have to find a way to get around that. She couldn't remove it on her own, and thought she would not be able to convince Crinkly to do it either. It wasn't as if it caused her any great suffering, besides the aggravation of being incapable of looking in a certain direction.

But if the rose couldn't be moved, the thing it was hanging on might be. If Crinkly opened the door wide enough, and if Hermione could position herself at the right angle, the flower would be facing the wall and she wouldn't be bothered by it. Then there was a chance to get past it. She would have to move fast, or Crinkly would have time to close the door again before she could get out.

But, she realized; it would be impossible to slip past Crinkly anyway.

_You could attack her,_ said the voice of her inner vampire.

"No," she muttered to herself. "Can't do that. Sorry."

If Crinkly noticed her slipping out, she would be likely to use her magic to keep her back. It was obvious that the house elf was allowed a lot of freedom, and would do what she thought necessary in such a situation.

Could she convince Crinkly to help her? she wondered. The elf _had_ tried to warn her and Harry off when they had stood at the gates of the house, quite probably because she had been aware of what usually happened to the Malfoy's guests. But Hermione knew too much about house elves by now, to consider this idea for long. However liberated she might be, Crinkly wouldn't go against a direct order from her master.

Could she be distracted? Was there a way to lure her so far into the room that Hermione could slip out and close the door before the elf had time to react?

-

The answer came to Hermione a few days later, in a flash of inspiration. She was waiting for Crinkly to bring her a bottle of blood, like she did every three days. She heard the pitter-patter of house elf footsteps, and suddenly it hit her what she had to do. How very simple it was!

She had grown strong enough to hover in the air by then, and she rose upwards just as the lock clicked and the doorknob turned.

She pressed herself against the ceiling and held her breath. It was costing her all her strength to stay up. She could feel her energy ebbing away with every heartbeat. She hadn't had a taste of fresh blood in three days.

The door opened with a creak, and Crinkly peeked into the room.

"Miss?" she squeaked.

There was a pause. Then the house elf stepped into the room. Hermione peered down at her anxiously. Was she going to close the door behind her, or chance a look at the ceiling?

But Crinkly, taking another couple of steps forward, left the door wide open.

"Miss? Where is you hiding?"

_Attack her now! I want blood!_

Hermione clenched her teeth and ignored the voice, though it took all of her self-control to do so. It was true that she had to act immediately, before Crinkly thought of looking up.

Silently, she swooped down and out through the door, managing to slam it behind her. The door locked itself on its own. She landed on the floor with a thump. Then she quickly got up and started running through the corridor, searching for a hiding place where she could safely collapse. Crinkly's frightened screams followed her long after she had stopped hearing them.

------------

**A/N nr2: Wild roses are mentioned in Bram Stoker's Dracula as being effective against vampires.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: We don't own anything except the Old Malfoy. You can't take him away from us!**

**A/N: This took a little longer than expected, but at least you didn't have to wait a month this time... Updates from now on will be slightly sporadic, due to school having started, but we will try to keep a once a week/every two weeks schedule. Not even the lack of reviews will stop us!**

**Now... read, enjoy, and review! **

**10 – The Deal**

_In which Harry gets glomped, something which we feel doesn't happen enough times in the books._

Harry didn't look up as the door opened. It would only be Crinkly again, bringing some bread like she had done twice a day for a week.

"You're a bit early, aren't you?" he muttered.

"I was not aware that we had an appointment," said the old Malfoy. "But if you say so, I suppose I must believe you."

Harry glanced up.

"Oh, it's you."

A week's diet of bread and water, coupled with the cold and the fact that he was being imprisoned for no apparent reason, had him feeling rather upset. However, he lacked the energy to lash out.

"Indeed it is," said the Malfoy. "I trust you have fared well this last week."

"Can't say I have, no," said Harry. "You?"

"Oh, fine, fine," he said, amused. "You would not like it outdoors though, with this awful, boring weather. It has been raining."

"Ah."

Harry was in no mood for small talk, but the Malfoy was persistent.

"I wonder how you got here, Mr Potter. Neither you nor Miss Granger seem to possess a time-turner."

"Search the ocean for it if you like. Why? Do you collect them too?"

"As it happens, yes," said the Malfoy, sighing. "However, I took the liberty of appropriating this other time-related object. It is most fascinating. I have learnt many things of the future from time-travellers, but that they carry clocks on their wrists I did not know. Quite extraordinary really."

"My watch… you took my watch?"

"Watch you call it? Such funny words…indeed I did, and I took your wand as well, for obvious reasons. Don't want you running loose in this house, do we? Accidents can occur, you see. You never do know with the old girl." This last he directed at the ceiling.

Harry stared. He had thought the Malfoy was a bit insane, but this was a whole new level of craziness. He'd known many lunatics in his life, but he wasn't sure how to handle _this. _

"But I seem to recall you being a straightforward young man," said the Malfoy, changing his tone at once. "Eager to have things out in the open. So, on to business. My first object of this visit was to ask you about the time-turner, and now that that has been taken care of, I have a proposition for you."

"Go on," said Harry cautiously.

"Well, the situation stands thus; as you are no doubt aware, some of the goblins that dwell in these parts are growing restless. As with those in London, they feel they are being treated unfairly, that they should be allowed their rights. I believe they are trying to organise a small rebellion of some sort, and I have often supported them in monetary fashion."

The Malfoy started pacing. Harry, despite himself, was listening attentively.

"Lately, however, their methods have started to worry me, and I have withdrawn my backing. This, as you can understand, has aggravated them considerably. I have a nephew, Mr Potter. He is around your age. A rather unpleasant sort, make no mistake, but still, he is… young, and perhaps salvageable. Whatever the case, he is my heir, and will inherit this house. If something should happen to him, well… there are few things in this world that I care about, and this house… I simply cannot let it pass to the Yorkshire Malfoys!"

For the first time, Harry noted that the old Malfoy looked agitated.

"At least the Cornwall branch has a sense of honour, but the Yorkshire Malfoys leave only ruin in their wake. They will be the ones who will end up defaming the family name they cherish so deeply. This house could not survive them. But now the goblins have my nephew, as you might have gathered, and are demanding ransom. I had planned on delivering him from their hands myself, but some recent intelligence shows that that could be a risky venture for me to make. They are vengeful, goblins. Which brings me to the proposition."

"You want me to give them the ransom? Is that right?" said Harry.

"You guess correctly."

"And what do I get in return?"

"Why, your freedom of course."

"What about Hermione?"

"Well, we shall see."

"Forget it then."

"Do not be so hasty. Consider it for a while."

"I'll consider it if you consider letting Hermione go too."

"I cannot do that. The freedom of one person in exchange for that of another is, I think, a fair bargain."

"Then free her instead of me!"

"Perhaps I could do that, although you are not half as entertaining to converse with."

"And she gets the potion."

The Malfoy frowned. He didn't say anything for a moment, and appeared to be thinking hard.

"Let us leave that for her to decide, shall we?" he said finally.

"Fine, I'll think about it," said Harry.

"Good day to you then. And I hope," he said, as he left, "that that manacle isn't bothering you all too much."

Harry chuckled mirthlessly.

-

The days went by, and Harry considered the offer like he had promised. He also tried to find some other way of escaping from the dungeon, but to no avail. He didn't want to accept the proposition, since he had no idea if the Malfoy would keep his word, and didn't want to play it on his terms. Besides, if the goblins really had been planning on setting a trap for the Malfoy, Harry didn't want to fall into it. That wouldn't help either his or Hermione's chances of getting home.

On the other hand; if they actually managed to escape from the castle some other way, there would still be the minor problem of Hermione's vampirism to deal with. He supposed she could learn to live with it – others had, after all. But since he knew there was a potion, and that there was a chance to get it, however slim, he had to try. It could help Hermione, her colleague, and anyone else who might want to be cured. If he could get the Malfoy to promise to free Hermione and give her the potion, wasn't it worth the effort?

And anyway, what other options did he have?

This was worth pondering, and ponder he did, for quite a while.

Eventually, the Malfoy paid his second visit.

"I feel you have had quite enough time to decide," he said. "It has been a week to the day, since we talked last. Oh dear, it is freezing in here! I must have forgotten the warming charms."

"So you must," said Harry, who knew full well he had "forgotten" on purpose. It was as if he was back at the Dursleys' again. Granted, they hadn't manacled him.

"Well, have you decided?" the Malfoy asked impatiently. "That is what I came here to find out. And… I must add, that should you decline my kind offer, I shall be forced to cut off your supply of bread. Winter is coming, and I must conserve my stores."

"I understand. But I'd like to ask you something about the terms first. Can I have my wand if I go?"

"Certainly. I would not ask you to go into the goblins' lair unarmed."

"Of course not. And what about the potion?"

"I have mulled it over, and my answer stands," said the Malfoy, "If you fulfil your bargain, and if your friend does indeed want it, she shall have it, and I shall set her free. You will starve to death whatever happens. Is this agreeable to you?"

Although he knew he would find some way of escaping – he always did – his stomach knotted at the prospect of ending his a days in that dungeon. Still he said; "Yeah, that's quite alright."

The Malfoy nodded, satisfied.

"Come," he said. "I shall give you your wand, your instructions, and the ransom money."

He started to walk out the door.

"Er… the manacles?"

He stopped in his tracks.

"Oh, pardon me," he said, and with a wave of his wand, Harry was free. "I do not know what has gotten into me this day. I have a terrible cold, that must be it… well, follow me then."

-

As soon as Harry was out of sight of the house, he started running. It felt good to move, breathing in the fresh night air after having spent just over two weeks cooped up in a small, dark dungeon. The air was chilly, and the ground was sprinkled with frost which glittered in the moonlight. He could hear waves breaking against the cliffs in the distance.

He couldn't keep up the running for long. His limbs were aching, stiff from weeks of sitting down, and he felt unbearably hungry and tired. For about twenty minutes he had been happy to be out of the manor. Now he began to wonder how he was going to reach the goblins before collapsing.

When he broke through the trees, he realized he was near the edge of the cliff, quite close to the place where they had first started their ill-planned journey, four hundred years into the future. He was wondering how he might get something to eat and maybe find some place to sleep where he wouldn't freeze to death, and wasn't really thinking about where he was going. The sound of voices jerked him out of his reverie. They seemed oddly familiar.

"_We're in the sixteen hundreds now. Aren't we?" _

"_I don't know. Do you want to ask someone?"_

He was dreaming. He had already fainted, and he was dreaming. It couldn't be.

"_There's nobody here. Except…"_

Ginny looked up at him. Their eyes met. For one long heartbeat, nobody said a word. Then Harry, trembling like a leaf from the shock and disbelief coupled with exhaustion and cold, took a few stumbling steps forward.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

And Ron was pointing his wand at him.

"Ron," said Ginny, in a strangled whisper. "I think it's… it's him!"

Ron's arm dropped limply to his side.

"Are you sure?"

Ginny didn't answer. She was already running towards him.

"No," said Harry weakly. "Don't tackle… I'm not feeling very well…"

It was too late. Ginny flung herself at him and they went sprawling.

"Ouch," he managed to say.

"Harry! You're alright! You're alright! Are you alright?"

"Ginny, get off him," said Ron. "He looks like seven shades of hell."

Ginny stopped hugging him, and sat up. Harry gazed at the two of them from the ground. They were obviously deeply shaken. Ginny had tears streaming down her face, and Ron was staring at him as though he had risen from the grave. Then it dawned on him.

Of course, it must have seemed to them as if he and Hermione had died.

"Blasted off the cliff by Death Eaters, bodies washed out to sea… yeah, it looked pretty bad," said Ron, as if he had read his thoughts.

"Pretty bad?" Harry muttered he got to his feet, ignoring the protests from his tormented muscles. "You don't know half of it."

"Why? And where's Hermione?" Ron said, his eyes searching the trees as if he expected her to jump out from the shadows, yelling "surprise!".

"Hermione… eugh, this is going to take some time to explain. Hermione…"

"She's not… Don't tell me she's…" Ron had suddenly turned white as a sheet.

"Well," said Harry, supporting himself on Ginny. "Yes and no."

That had not been the most tactful way to put it, he realized, as Ron sank to the ground in despair.

"Ron, get up! Don't you understand?" said Ginny unexpectedly. She wiped her face with her sleeve.

Harry was all too happy to let her take over for a while, as he allowed himself to just absorb this new turn of events. Ron and Ginny were there! That evened out the odds. Together they would be capable of doing things, like coming up with a plan; something which his tired brain couldn't have been able to think of by itself. Things were looking up.

They quickly stopped doing so however, as his legs gave way. The last thing he felt was Ginny grabbing hold of his arm, exclaiming something.

"Ginny, let go of my arm," he muttered. "I'm just going to sleep for a moment."

The ground came up to meet him, and everything went dark.

**End of part II**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: J.K.'s**

**A/N: Yes, it's another chapter! We have also changed our summary - thanks to MormonMaiden for the good advice. **

**11– The Plan**

_In which Ginny takes drastic action and Ron shows some moral fibre – well, a little anyway._

Harry woke up a few hours later, and was a bit surprised to find himself lying in a hayloft. He had vague memories of walking to the old barn, supported by someone… but who?

He thought about it for a few moments. Then he sat up so quickly that he hit his head on the ceiling.

"Ron? Ginny?" he said, rubbing his head. "How can I get down?"

"There's a ladder a little to your left," called out the voice of Ginny.

He peered over the edge of the large pile of hay, and saw her mop of red hair in the dim light. She looked up at him, grinning.

"Do you think you can make it down by yourself, or are you going to pass out again?"

"No, I'm fine," Harry quickly reassured her. This was not entirely true; he was weak with hunger and completely exhausted, despite having slept for what was probably several hours. All the same, he felt extremely cheerful – giddy, almost. He honestly hadn't thought he would ever get to see her again.

"Well, I'm glad. The way you collapsed on us like that, we almost thought there was something wrong. And you do look a mess. Would you like to have a sandwich?"

"Oi," said Ron, sticking his head out from behind a bundle of hay. "You didn't tell me about any sandwiches."

"Well, I'm telling you now."

"Thanks," said Harry, relieved. "I'm starving."

"Figured as much," said Ginny, beaming at him.

Soon they were all sitting together, eating in comfortable silence. After a while Harry noticed Ron was staring at him in disbelief.

"What?" he said.

"I still can't believe you're really alive. But I told you so, didn't I?" said Ron, glancing at Ginny.

"Well, how was I supposed to know?" she replied. "But you _are_ alive, Harry."

"Yeah. I know," said Harry, feeling very awkward.

"It's just… we thought you weren't."

"I understand."

"No Harry, you don't. We… we thought you were really_ gone_."

"Gone. Yes, I know."

"Both you and Hermione," said Ron. "By the way, where is Hermione?"

Harry swallowed the last piece of his sandwich, before beginning to explain.

"You just left her there?" said Ron, after he had finished. "He gave you back your wand. Why didn't you attack him?"

"He made sure I wouldn't. He told me the house would seal itself off if someone attacked him within its walls."

"And you believed him?"

"Well, I've read about that house, haven't I? He put all sorts of traps in it."

Ron, who had after all experienced many of these himself, had nothing to say to that.

"We have to go back for her," he muttered instead.

"We can't. There's no way we are going to get back inside that house if he doesn't want us there, and besides, we need his help."

"Why do we need his help? Can't we just stun him and search the house for that bloody potion?"

"Well, obviously we can't," said Harry, who was beginning to get irritated. "It could be hidden anywhere, and we won't be able to get inside the house to begin with."

"Actually, Ron can," said Ginny. "I don't know how he did it, but that's where he stole our time-turner."

"Oh yeah, your watch, Harry," said Ron, handing it to him. "It's probably stopped working though."

"My watch?" said Harry. He stared at it. "You found this in the future?"

"Yes," said Ron. "I broke into the Malfoy manor to find a time-turner, and I saw your watch, and I thought that was really strange, so I pocketed it. The old Malfoy wasn't too happy. His portrait I mean," he said when Harry looked at him blankly. "He was a nutty bloke, wasn't he?"

"Yes," said Harry slowly. "Yes he is."

They were silent for a few minutes, all of them deep in thought.

"Well," Ginny ventured after a while. "We – I mean, me and Harry – could go to the goblins, and you could go to the house… but not free Hermione."

"Yeah, because that wouldn't be completely pointless," said Ron.

"No, hear me out. If someone goes there, and obviously you're the best choice since the house likes you, then if the Malfoy goes back on the deal you could jump out of your hiding place and surprise him."

"Surprise him? But how… how is that going to help any?"

"Because it…" Ginny fumbled for words. "It gives us the element of surprise!"

"What, the element of – that never works, Ginny!"

"You could attack him from behind or something! Look, I don't know," she said, running a hand through her hair. "I just think it might be a good idea to have someone in there that he doesn't know about. Besides, you could look in on Hermione."

"Right. You might want to bring her something to, er, eat," said Harry. "Besides, I think the Malfoy took my invisibility cloak as well and I'd like to have it back. Maybe you could look for it too?"

"Oh joy," said Ron glumly. "Is there anything else?"

"Actually, I think you should just go with us instead," said Harry. "We could probably use your help better with the goblins. I don't think the Malfoy will go back on his word anyway. Whatever else he did, at least he was honest with us."

"No, I want to go," said Ron. "I want to know if Hermione's okay. Besides I just remembered, I have an idea of where the cloak might be. No guarantee, but I can take a look."

Harry was genuinely grateful.

They began to discuss plans. It was agreed upon that the first thing they had to do was get some more appropriate clothes for Ron and Ginny. They couldn't go wandering around in their modern attire so near a Muggle village in the sixteen hundreds.

"Speaking of which," Harry said, "Where are we now? There weren't any farms in Porthleven, were there?"

"No, we followed the path inland for a bit and found this place," said Ron.

"But don't any Muggles live here?" Harry asked, suddenly wondering why they hadn't been found and chased away yet.

"We put some simple wards around the place so that we wouldn't get found out. We had to stay somewhere, didn't we?"

"I suppose so…"

"Hey," Ginny said. "Do you think the farmer has some clothes we could nick?"

"Ginny," said Ron. "Don't you think that's a bit… wrong?"

"Why? It's just clothes, and needs must. You stole the ring and the broken time-turner from the man at that furniture shop, and you told me he said they were really expensive."

"Yeah, but those weren't really his, were they? They were mine and Hermione's."

"After four hundred years? That's debatable."

"Look," Harry cut in. "Your clothes are rather nondescript as they are. Maybe we could just change them a bit so that they could fit in more."

"Alright," Ginny said, sighing. "But it would be nice to have some real period costumes."

"We can visit Dawn's when we get back," said Harry. Ron shuddered.

It was easy enough to fix Ron's outfit since it was practically ancient already. Ginny's was more of a problem, because her skirt was far too short and they didn't know any good lengthening charms. In the end she discovered an old forgotten-looking apron hanging on a peg in the back of the barn, and, after cutting it into strips using Ron's pocket knife, they magically attached it to the hem of her skirt and re-coloured it. It still looked rather strange, but was at least appropriately modest.

By now it was mid-day, and they decided to get some more sleep and set out at nightfall. So they ate some more sandwiches, and made themselves comfortable in the hay.

Some hours later, they were rudely awakened. Harry sat up straight when he heard the loud yelling coming from outside.

"OPEN THE DOORS IMMEDIATELY OR WE WILL SMOKE YOU OUT, YOU SPAWNS OF SATAN!"

"They must have discovered the wards," said all three in unison.

"We have to get out," said Harry. "Is there a backdoor to this place?"

"No," said Ron.

Standing up and gathering their belongings, they all watched the doors apprehensively. The people outside seemed to be trying to force them open with a kind of battering ram, judging from the sounds.

"Needs must," muttered Ginny finally. She took a step forward, raised her wand and shouted, "_Reducto!" _

The doors blasted open and the muggles were thrown backwards. Before any of the dazed farmers had time to react, the three had dashed out and were running at a headlong pace away into the night.

Once they were safely hidden in the cluster of trees at the crest of a hill, they stopped and caught their breaths.

"Are they following us?" Ginny gasped, clutching a stitch in her side.

"No," said Ron, peering back. "They're walking around down there with their torches, but they seem a bit disorganized – I think you really scared them."

"Yeah, that was a powerful reductor curse," said Harry. "I've never seen one like that."

"Adrenaline-driven I think," said Ginny, looking rather pleased.

"Right," said Ron, after shooting one last glance at the distant mob. "Does anyone know which way Malfoy manor is?"

"We're near the cliff now," said Harry. "The landscape's a bit different of course, but I think it's off to the right."

"Where's the goblin cave?" Ginny asked him.

"It's in the other direction, but it should be close. We ought to get going."

"Yes," said Ron. "You two be careful, okay?"

"Of course. And one thing," said Harry. "Find an animal or five, to take to Hermione. I think she might be a bit weak."

"An animal?"

"Yes, you know. A bird or a rabbit or something. Anything with blood in it."

"Oh… yeah, alright. Well, 'bye then."

"Have fun."

"Take care, Ron," said Ginny, hugging him quickly. "Say hello to Hermione from us."

And they parted.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hey, we're back. We have been gone a long time, since we kind of lost heart. Also, real life happened. But we've got a new chapter now, and more on the way! We will finish this. Though it will probably happen faster if you review more. Also, for those who have questions, please log in or include your email address in the review, because apparently doesn't like us to post our answers here. Anyway, **

**Disclaimer: J.K.'s.**

**12. – The Not Totally Unexpected Turn of Events**

_In which there is a cliffie – a real one..._

Harry and Ginny trudged on at a brisk pace, until they reached the edge of the cliff.

"The cave is supposed to be near a rock that's shaped like a badger," Harry said.

They lit their wands and started walking along the edge. Apart from the waves breaking far below, the only sound was that of their footsteps.

"It's too still," Ginny muttered. "It's unnatural."

"It's alright during the day."

"Do you think he's setting us up?"

"I don't know. He might be. I didn't really have a lot of choice though – it was the only thing I could do."

"Yes, I know. Are you okay now?"

"What? Oh, yeah, I guess."

"I'm so happy we found you," she said quietly.

"Yeah, so am I. I probably wouldn't have made it as far as the goblin cave without you."

He slung an arm around her shoulders and she took hold of his hand.

They strolled on, chatting about inconsequential things. Although a potentially dangerous task lay ahead of them, it now seemed like more of an adventure than the looming threat it had been before.

All good things must come to an end however, and eventually they reached the badger stone. Ginny looked around.

"Where did he say the cave was?"

"Right under our feet. The opening is in the cliff face, so we'll have to find a way to climb down."

Ginny peered over the edge.

"Is there a password to open it then?"

"Yes, the Malfoy told me – but I think we shouldn't say it until we've reached where the opening's supposed to be. Otherwise they might ambush us."

"You don't think they'll do that anyway? And how does the Malfoy know the password to the cave?"

"He said they'd had dealings."

"Did he," said Ginny, frowning. "Look, I still think this is a trap of some sort."

"You know, it probably is."

"We should have told Ron to free Hermione and then we could all go home."

"I don't think Hermione would leave without that potion. She has her heart set on it. You didn't see her after she was bitten. She's been a wreck ever since."

"Is that why you didn't tell us about it?"

Suddenly there was a dangerous edge to her voice.

"Well… yeah," said Harry gingerly, knowing he was treading on very thin ice. "She was unbelievably upset. I've never seen her like that before."

"So you just decided to go back in time more than three hundred years without even leaving a message?" she was speaking calmly and almost deliberately, but there was a strange tremor in her voice which Harry recognized as a prelude to one of those famous Weasley tantrums.

"She told me she'd left Ron a message…"

"A message he couldn't read!"

"What?"

"It was in _code _Harry!"

"Oh – oh, of course, she was supposed to have handed back the time-turner to the ministry and the owls are still being intercepted. I'm sorry about that."

"I have been out of my mind for over two weeks, thinking you were _dead! _And all you can say is you're sorry?"

"No… Ginny, I really am, I wanted to tell you but – how do you think I've been, cooped up in that dungeon for two weeks? I thought I'd never see you again!"

"I – oh no…" she stared at him for a second, her eyes wide, before collapsing against him, sobbing. He held her tightly, also feeling his eyes prick.

"She wouldn't have told me either," he explained after they had both calmed down. "I found out by mistake."

Ginny wiped her puffy red eyes.

"But why didn't you tell us?"

"She didn't want anyone to know, at least not until she was absolutely sure there was no cure. I couldn't betray her confidence."

"No," she sighed. "I suppose not. But going back in time just the two of you, didn't that strike you as a bit risky?"

"You did it, didn't you?" he said, amused.

"That's completely different!"

"Did you think you'd actually find us when you went?"

"Well, that doesn't matter. We did find you, didn't we? Besides, that's not the point. Don't change the subject."

"Well, what is the point then? Do you even know?"

"The point is, Harry James Potter, that you should have taken us with you from the start, and I don't care what your excuses are."

"We couldn't take you with us. You were in Romania."

"You should have sent us an owl, and we'd have come back at once. And I don't care if the ministry is intercepting owls," she cut in, as he was about to speak. "You could have just told us you were in trouble."

"I know," said Harry, because he did. "I realized that as soon as we came here, or rather as soon as the Death Eaters surrounded us, and I think Hermione did too."

"Yes, where would you be without us?" she said, smirking.

"Oh, stop it. Anyway, how do you suggest we climb down? Do we know any good sticking charms?"

"Yes, I stuck Collin to the common room ceiling once, and it took them hours to get him down."

"They don't need to be that good," he said hastily.

However, as it turned out, they had no need for any sticking charms since there were hand and foot holes cut into the rock. Harry laboriously lowered himself over the edge, feeling around with his feet until he found the holes, and slowly he made his way down. Ginny followed suit.

Pretty soon, he stopped abruptly, and almost slipped as Ginny trod on his head.

"What is it?" she asked.

"There aren't any more footholds. I think this is where the opening is. So, I hand over the money, and if anything seems to go wrong I give you a signal and you jump in and help me out."

"The element of surprise, eh?" said Ginny, grinning. "It has to work sometime of course."

"Well, if you have a better idea – "

"No, no, I think that sounds alright. Go ahead."

Harry cleared his throat.

"_Whither go the shellfish_," he said.

They heard a loud rumble coming from deep below, and a fissure appeared in the cliff's face right next to where he was situated. Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry clambered over and slipped inside the opening.

He found himself in a huge grotto. Stacks of wooden crates lined the walls and a few torches flickered feebly, barely giving him enough light to see by. There was no trace of any goblins.

"Hello?" he called out tentatively.

He thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned around, pointing his wand in that direction, there was no one there. He heard the sound of shuffling footsteps some distance away, but couldn't determine where it came from. Growing more nervous every minute, he stood perfectly still, listening intently.

He had the feeling he was being watched. There were no goblins to be seen, but he wasn't alone.

"Hello?" he repeated, hoping his voice didn't sound as pathetic as he felt. "I – I'm here about Malfoy. I have the ransom."

For a moment longer, the eerie silence remained. Then, all of a sudden, there was a loud series of thumps as dozens of goblins dropped from the ceiling.

Harry was surprised, to say the least.

The goblins got to their feet, dusted themselves off and encircled him. One of them stepped forward and snapped its fingers. The torches instantly flared up, illuminating the cavern more thoroughly. The goblin then turned to Harry, fixing him with its beady gaze.

"What's that you said?" he asked.

"Er – I said, I'm here about Malfoy. I came to bring you this."

Harry handed over the bag of galleons. The goblin opened it and peeked inside, looking astonished. At what, Harry wasn't sure. They had been expecting the money, hadn't they? Perhaps the goblin was startled to receive it from him instead of the Malfoy… or perhaps there was something else in the bag?

"All right," it said. "I understand."

Then it shouted something in Gobbledegook, in a loud, harsh voice which caused Harry to jump - and all at once there seemed to be a lot of sharp, shiny things pointed his way.

"We had a hostage, you know," the goblin said, smiling. "But we got bored with him, so we tossed him into the sea."

"You - what?"

"We don't really need Malfoy's money anymore, do we? Annoying him is more fun anyway."

Harry didn't like where this was going.

"But he helped you before, didn't he?" he said, stalling. "He gave you money, and you took his nephew hostage when he stopped. Wasn't that what you wanted? More money?"

The goblins laughed.

Harry was annoyed with himself. Of course they wouldn't let him get out alive. He should have realized that. He should have listened to Ginny from the start… Ginny was still clinging to the cliff outside. He hoped she would stay there where she was safe, but somehow he doubted she would.

"Since I really don't have anything to do with this, can I just... leave?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

The goblin grinned, displaying an impressive set of razor-sharp teeth.

"No, you can't leave," it cackled. "See, you could give away our location. Besides, Malfoy still owes us. We might as well call in the debt from you."

"_Reducto!"_

The yell came from the mouth of the cave, and Harry would have whirled around, had he not been busy fending off the goblins which were now swarming around him. Anyhow, he didn't need to.

"Ginny! I said wait for the signal!"

"You weren't going to give it, you stupid prat!"

"I was about to –"

"You were about to get killed!"

They didn't have time to continue their argument. More and more goblins kept coming at them, springing up from trapdoors and hidden passageways. Before long they were both surrounded again, focusing only on staying alive from one moment to the next. This wasn't a new situation for either of them, although the circumstances were rather unique. They were back to back, firing curses in every direction, but the goblins, although not completely impervious to them, did seem to be able to deflect and dodge their spells very effectively, and they had a magic of their own.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Well, here's the next chapter! Sorry about the delay, folks. Hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: Our's? No. J.K.'s? Yes. As alway has been, and ever shall be. **

**13. - The Reunion**

_In which Ron's search finally comes to an end._

The rabbit didn't stand a chance.

"_Stupefy!"_

Ron didn't kill it, since he didn't think Hermione would like to drink blood from a stiff. He would simply have to re-stun it if it woke up.

It was strange, he mused, how quickly he had grown used to the idea of Hermione being a vampire. At first he had been upset, of course, but by now it didn't really matter to him much. He was going to see her again; she wasn't dead – well, technically she was, but not in the ways that mattered…

After having stunned a second rabbit he started to make his way towards the manor. The sun had only very recently set, and it was growing colder by the minute. Perhaps he should help Hermione escape from that dungeon after all? He knew it wasn't part of the plan, but he didn't trust the old Malfoy. The goblin thing was probably a trap. Harry and Ginny thought so too. Why on earth had he let them go there?

It was too late to stop them now, but not too late to help Hermione. If the old Malfoy decided to go back on his word, they had to be able to make a quick exit, so he might as well free her from wherever she was locked up while the house still liked him. If it came to a confrontation between him and Malfoy, he suspected that the building would probably not be on his side. But for the time being –

He stopped abruptly. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed where he was going. His feet had taken him to the manor on their own accord. Now, as he gazed up at it, it seemed more sinister than he remembered it, either because it was in far better repair than it had been, or because of who lived in it. Since the Malfoy was still alive, the almost sentient feel – the aura of active malice – was much stronger than it had been, or was going to be, at the turn of the millennium.

Suddenly the whole plan seemed a lot more dangerous than it had before. But, Hermione was trapped in that house, so…

He cleared his throat.

"Good evening, oh work of artistic wonder," he said. He thought it seemed prudent to spread it thick. "I, er, see the garden is… spectacular. If you would let me in so I could take a look…?"

-

_Well, that was easy,_ Ron thought as he walked along the hallway. He would really like to find Hermione first, but didn't know where to start searching. However, he did have an idea of where the invisibility cloak was.

As he sauntered through the portrait gallery he noticed a distinct lack of paintings. Only the old Malfoy himself adorned the wall. He supposed that the others he had seen would be brought there by later generations who would attempt to make themselves at home.

Hopefully the secret storage room had been installed.

He drew his wand, pointed it at the portrait and muttered a silencing charm. The portrait blustered noiselessly as he removed it from the wall.

"_Puniceus!"_ he whispered.

The wall slid open, revealing the secret hideout which looked exactly like it had when he had left it at the beginning of the 21st century – except that the time-turner and the wristwatch were still there, and indeed, Harry's invisibility cloak. Ron quickly grabbed it and stuffed it into his bag. Then he paused.

He wondered what would happen it he took the wristwatch. It was still working after all, and maybe Harry would need it… but he had to leave it there for himself to find in the future, didn't he? Or did he?

There was no way of knowing. In the end, he decided to leave it where it was. He did not feel like pushing his luck too far.

When he bent over to pick up the portrait, which was lying face down on the floor, he noticed something was missing. After examining it for a while he realized that the word puniceus was nowhere to be found. Perhaps someone else would write it down there later… but then again, perhaps not. He couldn't take any chances.

Realizing he didn't have a quill with him, he murmured an incantation under his breath, causing a thin ray of heat to emanate from his wand, and, holding it like a pencil, he scorched the word into the frame. Then he lifted the painting and hung it laboriously back on the hook.

Afterwards he stood still for a long while, looking at the place on the frame where he had written the password and wondering how on earth he could have known it in the first place.

"Did I just create a paradox?" he asked himself out loud.

"Well, I don't really know what you're doing, but I wouldn't be at all surprised," said a dry voice.

He whirled around.

"Hermione!"

"Ron!"

Before they knew it they were in each other's arms. Hermione quickly pushed him away, however.

"No, Ron, you need to keep away from me."

"What's wrong?"

"Ron… don't you – don't you know…?"

"Oh, that. Right. I'm sorry."

Hermione buried her face in her hands.

"No, don't, I didn't mean – wait," he said awkwardly. "I've brought you something. Here."

He handed her the rabbits, and she emitted a sound between a laugh and a sob.

"You're so sweet, but they're disgusting you know. Oh well," she said, and sunk her teeth into one of them, sucking up the blood with obvious relish. Ron looked away.

"Um…" he said after a while.

"Wait, I'm eating!"

"Okay…"

"All finished now," she soon said, hiding the carcasses behind a suit of armour and wiping her mouth. "Ron, you're really here, you're really here – how did you figure it out?"

And she was in his arms again, holding on for dear life.

"Long story. Ginny came too, and Harry's been let out."

He explained the Malfoy's deal with Harry.

"How could he believe that?" she said, letting go of him. "It's bound to be a trap!"

"I think so too, but I don't know what to do about it."

"Well, we have to hurry! We should get out! No, wait, we can't, can we. The house is on his side. And if it's _not_ a trap that means we'll be breaking the agreement and we won't get the potion. But if we all stick to the agreement," she said before Ron could open his mouth, "Harry will be stuck in here forever! We can't stay and we can't go!"

"Don't panic," said Ron, who was growing more and more alarmed. "There has to be something we can do. Come on, you and me, we work well together. We'll come up with a plan."

Hermione was silent for a moment, frowning. Then she heaved a small sigh.

"We don't need to think up a plan, Ron. It's obvious. We have to go and help Harry and Ginny, if we can… and forget about the potion."

"But Hermione – are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, it's the only thing we can do," she snapped. "We can't possibly trust Malfoy. We'll just have to forget about the wedding and everything. But how are we going to get out?"

"The way I got in. I'm sorry," he said, looking up at the ceiling, "but I can't stay longer. It's been a great visit, and I really admire your amazing style – you don't often find granite like this. I wish we could stay, but we have to leave now."

"Ron, is this some sort of joke?"

"Why, don't you think the house is fantastic?" he grinned.

"Ron…"

"Yes, you're fantastic, aren't you? Vibrant and almost radiant."

Suddenly a door materialized in a wall right next to them.

"Thank you. That's helpful," he said, grabbing Hermione's arm and dragging her outside.

As soon as they had closed the gates behind them, Hermione seized Ron by the shoulder, forcing him to stop in his tracks.

"_What_ was all that about?"

"Hermione, not here!" he glanced towards the manor. "I'll explain when the get to those trees. And let's not forget; you have some explaining to do as well."

"What?"

"Like why you left without telling me, for example. You can think about that while we get to those trees."

With that, he marched of.

Once safely shielded from prying eyes, Ron stopped, turning around to look at Hermione.

"Well?"

"Oh, no you don't Ron. I asked you first."

"About the house? Well, that's easy," he said carelessly. "Just ask it nicely and it'll help you."

"How did you discover that?"

"By trying it out. Now it's your turn. Why didn't you tell me about all this? Don't you trust me?"

"I do trust you, it's just… I didn't want to tell anyone."

"No, of course you didn't. You just told Harry…"

"I had to! He walked in on me drinking blood from a ferret!"

"But what made you think you'd be able to pull of something like this on your own?"

"I was desperate, Ron! It was the only way! You've never had to deal with anything like this, you have no idea what it's like-"

"I thought you were dead for two weeks! Do you know what that was like? I thought you were dead!"

"I – well, we were supposed to come right back! We weren't supposed to get attacked and fall off the cliff and break our time-turner and get trapped by that Malfoy!"

"You honestly never took it into account that Malfoy might not be too happy to see you? Or that… well… anything could have happened!"

"Obviously we did, but I left you that note, didn't I?"

"Yeah, that stupid note! All it ever said was that you'd travelled back in time! Nothing about where, or when, or anything that could help us track you down!"

"I wasn't in my right mind, it's just that…" her voice shook. "We can't get married now. You know that. This whole thing is over anyway. Now Harry and Ginny are in trouble, and it's all so stupid! I never should have come. I should have realized I wouldn't get the potion anyway."

Her shoulders slumped in defeat.

"No. Don't say that," said Ron hastily. "You had to give it a try… it's, well, it's the logical thing to do… sort of… anyway, we'll get Harry and Ginny out of there, and then we'll make Malfoy give you that potion. It's four against one."

"Ron," said Hermione, with a watery smile. "You know that's impossible."

"Why? I think we've faced worse odds. We can do it."

"I suppose we could try," she said, chuckling.

"Of course we can. And if nothing else, we'll go down fighting."

She beamed at him, and grasped his hand.

"No, I won't let you do that," she said firmly. "But lets find Harry and Ginny, and maybe together we'll come up with something. Now, where did they go?"

-

"You mean you don't have any idea at all?"

"Well, I'm sorry, but Harry forgot to tell me and I didn't think to ask."

"Well, go figure."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, darling – but wait. I think I heard something."

They stopped and held their breaths, listening hard.

Suddenly Ron took hold of Hermione's hand and exclaimed, "Look! That's light reflected in the water!"

They didn't waste a moment. Ron started running, and nearly got his arm tugged out of its socket when Hermione, who was still clutching his hand, rose into the air and began to fly towards the mouth of the cave.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Good God... The last chapter. For a while there we honestly didn't think we'd get this far, but we have, and it only took us, what, half a year?**

**Disclaimer: It's J.K.'s, all of it.  
**

**14. – The plots that work… And the plots that don't**

_In which we are given the reason for why the ministry ups their security_

Ron and Hermione swooped into the cave, nearly grazing the low ceiling, and for a moment all the fighting stopped and dozens of pairs of beady black eyes were directed upwards. Ron surveyed the scene for the barest of moments. Harry and Ginny were surrounded, but for the split second during which the goblins were distracted they managed to get a couple of hits in.

"I can't carry you anymore," said Hermione, and let go of him.

Ron landed gracelessly next to his sister, but got to his feet very quickly, wand drawn.

"Good, you're here," Ginny said. "Look, we have to keep them occupied. They had this weird force field around us, but they can't get it back up unless-"

She didn't have time to speak anymore. Goblins were attacking from all sides. Even though the wizards had stronger magic, the goblins were tough and resistant. Ron soon realized that there was no way they could overpower their assailants, and that they had to escape through the mouth of the cave. Unfortunately, the cave had apparently been designed to prevent this. Both the bottleneck entrance and the sloping ground made it almost impossible for them fight their way out. Also, it was quite hard for them to push their way to the entrance, when they had to constantly deflect crossbow bolts and keep the force field from forming again.

Ron couldn't see very well how the others were doing, but once or twice he cast a glance around. Hermione was doing very well. She moved faster than would be possible for a normal human being, and was probably the only thing keeping Harry and Ginny from being overwhelmed. Ron tried to make his way over to help them, but was stopped by a goblin which dropped unexpectedly from the ceiling, clung to his back and sank its sharp teeth into his neck. He almost lost his balance, and lost sight of Harry and Ginny completely as he tried to fend it off.

As another goblin fell on top of his head at the same time as he felt one biting his leg, Ron knew that unless someone did something drastic, all would be over.

He fell to his knees. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ginny, waving her wand.

"_Incendio!"_

She missed. So why were all the goblins stopping in their tracks, turning around?

Before he had time to register anything else, someone grabbed a hold of his arm, and pulled him backwards. He was lifted from the ground, at the same time as Ginny's spell hit one of the crates - and then everything seemed to go in slow motion. The crate exploded. Bits of wood sailed through the air, and one after another, the rest of the wooden boxes caught fire, and they too exploded... goblins threw themselves to the ground, covering their faces…

The four of them, carried in a super-human effort by Hermione, cleared the cave mouth, just as, with a deafening bang, several wooden crates exploded simultaneously. The force of the blast propelled them another few feet away, but then Hermione's strength gave out, and they plummeted down. Ron had one last glimpse of the fire, the smoke and the splinters that were billowing out of the cave mouth, before he hit the water with a _splash!_

He spluttered his way up to the surface. The first thing he noticed, as he pushed his sopping wet fringe out of his eyes, was that though Harry and Ginny were struggling to keep afloat next to him, Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

He looked around, searching the waters frantically, beginning to feel the edges of panic.

Then, to his intense relief, her head broke the surface. She was clutching a board which had undoubtedly come from one of the crates.

"I thought you'd drowned," he said, while splashing his way over to her.

"Don't be silly, Ron," she snapped. "I'm already dead."

She seemed to have trouble even holding on to the board. Ron realized that the last of her strength must have gone into getting them out of the cave.

He was barelystaying afloat himself. His waterlogged clothes were pulling him down, and the chill was not helping. They had to get to shore before they froze to death.

"Over here!" shouted Ginny. She was close to an outcropping in the cliff, far ahead of them. Harry was nearer to Ron, and it looked as if he was having a difficult time staying above the surface. Ron suddenly remembered that his friend wasn't good at swimming. How were they ever going to make it?

In the end, Ginny rescued Harry while Ron supported Hermione as they, coughing and gasping, swam to the rock.

Their clothes were soggy, clammy and heavy, so they each muttered a drying spell. When they no longer were in any immediate danger of catching pneumonia, they sank down onto the cold, hard rock. Hermione had the presence of mind to light them a fire first.

The periwinkle blue flames danced merrily, and in the distance, various sounds could be heard from the cave which they had left in such haste.

"What do you think is going on in there?" Harry asked.

Hermione sat up, and glanced around at the others, a small smile forming on her weary face.

"Don't you know?"

"Know what?" Ginny asked suspiciously.

"Haven't you realized what this was? What we've been a part of?"

"Hermione, what are you on about?" Ron said.

Hermione slapped her forehead in mock frustration. Then she laughed. For a moment she looked exactly like herself, and Ron felt a surge of hope. Although it sounded hoarse and strained, it was undeniably Hermione's laugh, which he hadn't heard for such a long time.

"Well, if any of you had stayed awake at all in History of Magic… I mean, just for one moment… you would know about the failed plot to blow up the Ministry of Magic!"

"Wait," said Ron, slowly. "I remember something about that."

"It was in one of our exams, wasn't it?" said Harry. "One of those goblin rebellions…"

"Yes. Don't you see that if it hadn't been for us, the ministry would be rubble?"

Harry cursed loudly.

"Harry!" said Ginny, hitting him lightly on the arm. "Don't do that. But Hermione, am I completely off, or was that gunpowder in those crates?"

"Yes. You see, back in the sixteen hundreds - I mean _now_, the ministry had no spells to protect against muggle weapons. When they realized what had almost happened they added some, of course. But the plan would have worked, most likely."

"Pity we ruined it," said Harry sourly.

"I wonder what happened to the goblins," said Ginny. "I'd hate to think..."

"Oh, they survived," said Hermione. "And in a little while, the ministry will come to investigate that explosion."

"I wonder if Malfoy had something to do with it," said Harry. "He said he was helping the goblins. It sounds like something he'd come up with."

"Who knows?" said Ron sleepily.

"I don't suppose we'll ever find out," said Hermione. "We're all together now, so we really should be getting back quickly."

"What? Without your potion?" said Ginny, sitting up suddenly.

"Yes. We broke the agreement, so he won't give it to us willingly. And I don't want any more trouble."

"_I_ never made an agreement," Ginny retorted.

"But if we go back he'll lock us all up, if he lets us in at all!"

"We can get out! I can get us out," said Ron. "That house can't keep me."

"Look, if it's your will against his-"

"I don't want to have gone through all this for nothing," Harry cut in. "We have been stuck in a dungeon for two weeks. I've nearly starved to death, nearly frozen to death, nearly gotten killed by goblins and nearly been blown to pieces in that explosion, and you're not telling me that after all that we're just going to give up and go home because some Malfoy makes you nervous!"

Hermione opened her mouth as if to argue, but was interrupted.

"He broke the agreement first," Ginny said angrily. "That goblin thing was a trap! Harry wasn't supposed to make it back, and even if he had, he would have been killed anyway. You would never have known what had happened to him, and Malfoy would probably never have given you that potion. You know it's true."

"But-"

"There's no way you can win this, Hermione," said Ron.

Hermione sighed. She couldn't deny it. Their eyes were all ablaze with that trademark Gryffindor spirit, which meant that they were all about to embark on a courageous, reckless, stupid venture without a plan in sight. She might as well resign herself to it.

"Alright, well," she said. "I suppose I'll tag along. You won't make it without someone who can actually think."

"Right," said Ron. "I knew you'd come around."

"I think, that the first thing we should do is to get off this rock," said Harry,

"And then rest for a bit," said Ginny.

"And get something to eat," said Ron.

"Yes, yes," said Hermione tiredly. She had to regain her strength, if she was to be of any use to anybody. Anyway, the night was young.

-

One arduous climb later, the four of them went rabbit hunting. It took them a little while, what with them being worn out and all, but finally they had their conies, and retreated into a small thicket.

Hermione lit another fire with her wand.

"Well then," she said crisply. "We need a plan."

"You need your rabbits, first of all," said Harry, tossing her one. "But you're right, we have to think something up. We can't just walk in there, can we? Can we?"

"Why not?" said Ron. "I think we could pull it off."

"I don't," said Ginny. "He's got no reason for helping us. He'll probably happily lock us all up, or murder us on the spot. Unless…" and she looked pensively at Hermione.

"What do mean?"

"I mean, if – if the worst should come to the worst… and there was no other way, you could…"

"What?"

"You could kill him, couldn't you?"

"_What?_ No. No, I won't do that."

"I'm only saying-"

"It's out of the question," said Hermione, rising to her feet. "I can't and I won't. That's that."

"Well, of course you don't want to, but it could be all of our lives at stake! And it would be as a last resort."

"We'll have to think up a better plan than that. I will not do it. _Ever_."

"Okay, okay," said Ginny hastily. "Sorry!"

"It's not your fault," Hermione muttered, sitting down again. "It's just… I keep thinking about killing people and drinking blood. It's because I'm a vampire."

"I didn't know that," said Harry, taken aback.

"I didn't want to make you worried. Anyway, I've managed to keep it under control, but killing a human being would only make it stronger, and besides… I don't really want to kill him. Even if he's despicable and insane-"

"- You feel sorry for him," Harry finished. She nodded.

"Well, anyone have a better plan?" said Ginny, sounding miffed.

"We could threaten him," said Ron. "You could bluff. You know, pretend you're about to bite him."

"That won't work," said Hermione immediately. "First of all, if I'm going to threaten him I have to be prepared to carry it out. Secondly, I don't think he's afraid of becoming a vampire."

"Then what is he afraid of?" Harry asked.

"I think he's afraid of dying, but we can't attack him inside the house, so what's the point?"

"But if we could lure him out of the house," Ron said.

"Yes," said Ginny. "He doesn't know about me and Ron, and he probably thinks Harry's dead. We'd be able to ambush him."

"But there's no way we'll make him come out of there," said Harry.

"Well," said Hermione. "We could use a bait."

Everyone looked at her.

-

"Malfoy… Malfoy…"

Hermione stumbled up to the garden gate, and clutched at the bars in order to stay upright.

"Let me in, Malfoy..."

She fell to her knees, still holding tightly to the ironwork.

Harry could see the proceedings very well from his vantage point, nestled in the branches of a yew. They had rehearsed it many times, and when it came to portraying a famished vampire, Hermione was in her element. She was now slumped against the gates, rattling them weakly and begging to be let in. Then she went into a coughing fit.

Soon the door to the manor opened, and Crinkly the house elf poked her nose out. Harry could hear her shrill voice, saying,

"Yes, she is out there, master… Must I, master? I is frightened of her, master… Yes, master."

This was a development they hadn't considered. Harry gritted his teeth, Ginny shifted beside him and Ron whispered;

"Could we accio her or something?"

"Wait," Harry breathed. "Wait. We'll see what happens first."

If they had to, they could always take Crinkly hostage, but then the element of surprise would be gone.

Crinkly hesitantly made her way towards where Hermione was lying, just outside of the garden. The elf trembled violently, and her eyes were wider than Harry would have thought possible. Hermione looked up, baring her fangs and snarling viciously.

"I need blood," she hissed.

Crinkly let out a shriek, but didn't step back. She was forced to obey her master's will, and even in her terror she knew it.

"Yes, come closer," Hermione murmured in a singsong voice. "I'm hungry."

Harry shuddered. She sounded frighteningly sincere.

Although she seemed to have trouble moving, since her legs were shaking so badly, Crinkly took another step forward, and another. Harry glanced towards the house and saw that the Malfoy was standing in the doorway, watching.

Harry knew Hermione must be feeling upset on the elf's behalf, but if she was, it didn't show. From where he sat he could see her in profile, and she still had that crazed look on her face. Either she had suddenly grown really good at acting - or she wasn't acting at all.

Crinkly had reached the gate. She stood rooted to the spot for a moment, staring at Hermione, before slowly reaching for the lock.

"All right. No need," said Malfoy abruptly. He started hobbling down the path, using his walking stick.

Crinkly turned to him.

"Yes, that is quite alright. You can go," he said, gesturing towards the manor. "Run along, run along."

"Oh, thank you master," she cried, and fled back to safety.

Malfoy turned back to Hermione, only to find that she appeared to have fainted. With a sigh and a muttered expletive, he brusquely pushed open the gate and stepped outside the boundaries of his garden.

Before he had time to react, a voice from a nearby yew cried,

"_Expelliarmus!"_

His wand shot up into the tree and he himself was knocked to the ground. Hermione clambered to her feet and closed the gate as Harry, Ron and Ginny jumped down and surrounded the old man. Ron went and stood next to Hermione, protecting the gate, and Harry pointed his own and the Malfoy's wand at the Malfoy.

"Well," said he, slowly standing up. "You survived, I see."

"I did. We want the potion."

"Yes, well, you may remember that our agreement included miss – the lady here – staying put."

"Our agreement also included the rescue of a hostage which was already long dead, and it did not include me getting killed by a bunch of goblins. You set us up."

"I am disappointed that you did not expect as much. That you did not plan for such an occurrence was quite – how shall I put it? – stupid."

"Well, I did expect it, but what else could I do? I had to try and help Hermione."

"Altruism will get you nowhere in life, my friend," said the Malfoy gently.

"Look here, I'm sick of listening to this. Will you give us the potion?" Ginny cut in.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Now, now, try to put yourself in my position. I have something you want very badly, but you have nothing to give me in return. You are no friends of mine, you are very selfish and not particularly polite, and you are wizarding folk, which I despise. Give me one good reason why I should give it to you."

"We'll kill you if you don't," said Ron.

"Oh, I doubt that, stranger. I would guess you have never killed a man in your life."

"I have," said Harry, trying to keep his voice steady.

"That may be so. But I do not fear death, not really. I do not have much of a life left to live."

For a moment, all that could be heard was the wind rustling through the leaves. Was it a bluff? What if it wasn't?

Then Hermione spoke up.

"I think… what if we could… I mean," she said, looking as if she was struggling hard to get the words out. "_I_ have something you want. Don't I?"

The Malfoy fixed his eyes on her.

"Yes, you do. Would you give it to me?"

"Hermione, what are you-" Ron began, but she shushed him.

Harry thought he knew what she was talking about, but kept his mouth shut. She seemed cloven, but she had to make this decision on her own.

"Yes," she said finally. "If you tell Crinkly to get the potion first."

"Crinkly," the Malfoy called. Crinkly instantly appeared on the front step. "Fetch me the vial in the drawing room cabinet, please."

Crinkly scurried away, and the Malfoy turned back to Hermione.

"You should be aware, my dear, that after this, you may no longer want to drink that potion."

"My friends will force me to if that happens," she said.

"You are denying yourself a great gift."

"I will be denying myself an even greater one if I don't drink it."

"Well then, if you are sure. Here is Crinkly now. Shall we?"

"In the garden. Not in the manor. And I will bring a wand. I don't trust you."

"That is wise. We will be back shortly," he said, motioning for Crinkly to hand Harry the small vial.

"Are you sure about this?" Harry whispered, as he gave Hermione the Malfoy's wand. She shook her head and shrugged, before following the Malfoy into the garden.

A tense silence reigned, as everyone waited with bated breath. Ron held the gate open, and stared fixedly into the dark garden for any sign of Hermione. She and the Malfoy had disappeared from view.

Harry had no idea how long they waited. It felt like an age before they saw her sprinting back across the lawn.

"Give it to me!" she shrieked, and snatched the vial from his hand.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and drank down about half of the potion. Then she almost dropped the small container, as she began to tremble violently. They all rushed to her to help her. Ginny took the vial, as Ron eased her onto the ground. She was shaking all over and gasping for air, and her eyes rolled. After a while she stiffened, every muscle in her body going taut. For a few seconds she was as rigid as a board, before she went limp, collapsing against Ron. Harry could see that she was breathing normally.

"Hermione?" said Ginny, bending down. "Are you all right?"

"I think so," she said hoarsely. She looked around at them with bleary eyes.

"Oh, really?" said Harry. "You could have fooled me..."

"No, nothing's wrong. This is very nice."

She climbed laboriously to her feet.

"We ought to get away from here though, because he will be feeding soon."

"What?" said Ron.

"The Malfoy. I made him a vampire again. That's what he wanted. Come on."

And so, with Ron supporting Hermione, who declared she was gaining new strength with every step, they headed towards the cliff, without looking back.

-

The sun was rising over the sea, turning the wispy clouds rosy pink. Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione sat on the grass, a safe distance away from the cliff's edge, watching the scene.

"He gave me my wand back," Hermione explained. "And said I could take credit for discovering the potion. This will help lots of people."

"I bet there are plenty of vampires who won't want to be helped though," said Harry. "Like him. I wonder if he'll still be around when we get back?"

"Who knows?" said Ginny. "I wish I had brought more sandwiches."

"Yes, I'm empty," said Hermione. "I haven't eaten at all for two weeks."

"That depends on how you define eating," Harry muttered. Hermione threw some grass at him.

"There are a few things we still have to clear up," said Ron. "Look at this."

He held up Hermione's engagement ring. Hermione looked between it and the one on her finger for a moment, in puzzlement.

"Where did you get that?"

"Yeah, see, it's a paradox. I found it in an antique shop together with your broken time-turner, but I have no idea how it got there. I mean, you still have yours…"

"Oh," said Hermione.

"I wonder what would happen if you just kept both of them? We'd have a matching set!"

"No, we can't do that, it's very dangerous! It would mess with the time-space continuum something awful. Who knows how many alternate universes it would create? The future we'd come home to would be completely different from the one we left! There's clearly only one thing to be done."

With that, she jumped up, strode over to the edge, removed the ring from her finger and tossed it as far out into the sea as she could.

"So much for that paradox," Ginny said, grinning.

Hermione plunked herself back down next to Ron, who immediately took hold of her hand and, with a flourish, presented her with the remaining ring.

"Four hundred years older, and it still looks brand new," he said, slipping it onto her finger. "That's quality spell work for you. Look, you can still read the inscription. Do you want me to change it?"

"No. I think I can appreciate it better now," she said, and they kissed.

Ginny raised an eyebrow, before launching herself at Harry.

"I know a good restaurant in Porthleven," said Ron, after regretfully pulling apart from Hermione. "The future Porthleven I mean."

"Time to go back, is it?" asked Ginny.

"Yes. Let's get some breakfast."

**Finis**

13


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